Secrets
by disco wizard
Summary: Harry has a wretched home life with the Dursleys and a hateful Snape goes to inquire about his well being. Story will eventually be Slash between the two. Contains mention of drug usenon-con
1. Default Chapter

Somewhere, he knew, the boy who lived was, well, living. Presumably, he was safe, well loved. Maybe he had a kitten named Astro. Perhaps he attended Shabbat services with his family on Fridays, followed by a traditional meal. As he grew up, of course, he would find out he was a wizard. Going off to school would complicate his life a little; his Bar Mitzvah would have to be postponed until summer.

That's what you'd like to think happened to the boy who lived, isn't it? You'd like to think that it was all speckled lemonade on a warm, summer evening, that the hardest thing he ever put up with was a baseball injury.

You'd be wrong, though, if you thought all of that.

* * *

Harry groaned as he woke up. His entire body throbbed in pain. Instinctively, he stretched, only to hit his arms and legs up against the walls of his cramped space. He felt for his spectacles and tried to remember where he was. There were days that he didn't know, mostly due to one too many blows to the head or to the nose. After thinking a moment, he realized that yes, he was still in his cupboard, and no, the light bulb was not going to turn on. Sighing, he fished for a lighter and lit a candle. 

The warm light illuminated much. The cupboard was covered with relics of a lonely boy. Tattered sheets of paper containing poems covered the wall, a testament to his treatment here. Pictures he had drawn as child, hopelessly forgotten as life slowly progressed into torture. Once, he had been happy. Then, of course, he had wound up here, with the Durselys.

He ran a hand through his shaggy, rambunctious hair as he looked for his release. A tattered bag, made out of an old sock, contained what he was looking for. One concoction cooked over a candle with a spoon later, and Harry was feeling quite dandy. His muscles began to relax, his mind wandered. Then, the memories came back to him.

"_But Uncle," the boy whimpered, "I've done the dishes already." His protests were not heard, as he was grabbed by his hair and slammed into the wall._

"_I don't care, boy," Vernon growled, "you'll do them again, until they're spotless. You see this spot," he asked, holding the boy's nose up to the plate. "Being the stupid, lazy boy that you are, you neglected to clean this spot. Just think, Dudley could have eaten off of this plate." _

_Vernon began to shake the boy, and then drug him to the bathroom. Grabbing him by the hair, he forced Harry to stare at himself in the mirror. _

"_Look at you," he yelled. "You're hideous. An abomination to the human race." His uncle seemed oblivious to the tears that were rolling down Harry's gaunt cheeks and falling like raindrops onto the floor. Suddenly, however, Vernon threw a punch at Harry's face, nearly knocking him to the floor. "You'll clean up the mess you made crying later, worthless boy. Now look in the fucking mirror before I decide to hit you again." Hurriedly, Harry looked into the mirror. Had he not been in extreme duress, he might have noticed that he had large circles under his eyes, that his face was nearly skeletal. He might have even tried to do something about it. Now, however, it was all that he could do to hold back the tears to avoid being hit again._

"_I want you to say it," hissed Vernon. "Say it until you believe it, say it until you realize that you can't possibly be worth anything." When Harry merely stared at the mirror, Vernon slapped him and yelled._

_Mumbling, Harry began. "I am worthless, I am stupid. No one could ever love a freak like me. I am lucky that anyone would ever put up with my oddity."_

"_Louder," hollered Vernon, hitting the boy again._

"_I am worthless, I am stupid. No one could ever love a freak like me. I am lucky that anyone would ever put up with my oddity."_

"_That's better," Vernon said, smirking viciously. "Now continue until I fetch you to prepare dinner." He exited, locking Harry in the bathroom. _

_Harry knew better than to stop saying what his uncle had instructed him to say. He'd tried that once and wound up tied to a bed, raped, and without food for days. He also knew, however, ways to cope with what his uncle demanded of him. Yelling the phrase all the while, Harry opened the medicine cabinet and reached for a pair of scissors sitting on the shelf. Without ceremony, he rolled up his sleeve, and slashed at it with the scissors, a river of red coming forth. Suddenly, he felt a release. Although his body was under the control of someone else, his mind, his spirit had escaped. Although his mouth spoke the words, he no longer heard them._

_

* * *

_Harry stood at platform 9 ¾, waiting for Ron and Hermione to show. He was restless, and wanted to get as far away from London as possible. Every time he heard an unexpected noise, he flinched, thinking that it would be his uncle, coming to take him away. Finally, he could stand it no longer and pulled a fag from his pocket. He had just lit up and taken in a calming drag when he heard a chiding, motherly voice.

"Honestly, Harry, what sort of people have let you believe that a child your age can smoke," scolded Mrs. Weasely. She pulled the fag from his lips, put it out, and promptly disposed of it, all in one quick, smooth motion. Harry shrugged, and was quickly enveloped in a warm hug.

How was your summer, dear," she asked, smoothing down his wayward hair.

"Pretty much the same as always," he replied. It wasn't a lie, really.

"Well, that's good, then, isn't it? Did your family get to go to Ireland again," She inquired.

"Yeah," he said. Same lie as the year before.

"Hey, mum, stop giving him the third degree," spoke Ron. Harry looked up to see that his compatriot in crime had grown nearly five inches in one summer. He smiled. Except for the extra height, Ron looked just the same as always.

"I am just concerned for his well being," she said, "I mean, look at him, it looks like he's been visiting Auschwitz or something." She tugged at his baggy clothes and made concerned, clucking noises.

"Come off it, mum," retorted Ron, "if he says he's ok, then he is."

"Harry, Ron," called a familiar voice, "we're about to miss the train." Abruptly, Harry felt himself being pulled toward the train by Ron and a very exuberant Hermione. The three of them practically ran through the train to try to get a compartment to themselves. Harry relaxed. Everything felt all right now. The train was familiar, he was with his two best friends, and there was no way that his uncle could get to Hogwarts, especially since he didn't even know how to get onto the platform.

Finally, the trio found themselves in a cozy compartment and Harry plopped down onto the seat as if he was utterly exhausted. Really, though, he wasn't. He'd merely given himself a "treatment" before he left the Durselys, and it was just now starting to take effect. He hoped that he would be able to use his "treatments" to normalize his demeanor.

"Geez, Harry, what's so funny," asked Hermione, eyeing Harry's goofy, wide grin suspiciously.

"Aw, nothing. I'm just glad to be away from Dudley, that's all," Harry replied. That was a safe statement, because it was true.

"I dunno, mate," said Ron, "you're looking pretty kooky to me. Maybe you need something to eat." With that, Ron went to flag down a refreshment cart. Meanwhile, Hermione turned to Harry and began chattering.

"So I've neglected my studies so much this summer, but I really think I can catch up, especially since I've decided to drop Divination and Muggle Studies," she spoke.

"You had time to study this summer," asked an incredulous Harry. He dwelled on the thought for a moment. Such an idea seemed luxurious to him. What would it have been like to feel safe enough to study? It had been all he could do to keep himself alive.

"Of course I studied some, silly. I've got to keep up. You really ought to as well. It's not like we've had the luck to be surrounded by magic all our lives. Really, we have to make up for lost time," she chided. Harry nodded.

"Anyway," she continued, obviously oblivious to Harry's disinterest, "I learned some really useful memory charms over the summer. They come in quite handy when studying. Basically, you look at an object and say 'Quiero recordar,' and you're able to remember something with ease." She looked at Harry, expecting him to say something concerning her achievement. Luckily, at that moment, Ron entered the car, carrying what looked like the entire refreshment cart. He had apparently thought that Harry looked like he needed food. Harry, not one to turn his nose up at food, grabbed a small pumpkin tart, and began munching on it. The three munched and chatted aimlessly until they arrived at Hogwarts.

Harry barely made it through the rest of the social events of the day. Dinner seemed to drag on for hours, mainly because Dumbledore decided to begin his speech by saying "Lemon Drops" in as many languages as he could. He only ended the madness because he couldn't remember how vowel sounds worked in Gaelic. Finally, he had ended the madness with some inane muggle song that Harry had never heard before. Apparently, it involved a lot of nonsense words. Hermione laughed, and seemed to know the song. Harry wondered why anyone would ever want to write a song wherein the most complex sentiment expressed is "Mmmbop." Exhausted, he flopped onto his bed, and began to think through the night. Many comments had been made about Harry's appearance. Nearly all of them had been made behind his back, but Harry had remarkably good hearing. Some had thought that Harry was too thin. Others, including a gaggle of girls at the Hufflepuff table, had whispered that he looked the epitome of emo, whatever that was. He could only guess that it was a compliment of some sort.

Relaxed and drowsy from a good meal, Harry began to drift off into sleep. It didn't matter that he tried to fight it. His body took over and shut down due to exhaustion.

_His first time had been nearly eight years ago. It had been a lovely spring day, and Harry was walking home from school, excited that he had received a decent mark on an exam. "Maybe," he thought, "I'll get a Popsicle like Dudley does when he receives a good mark." He sped up his pace, wanting to get home to show aunt and uncle that he wasn't entirely stupid after all. Maybe they would believe his teacher. Nearly running, he burst through the door, saying, "Look, look, I did good at school today." _

_Petunia had been washing her favorite china when the little hellion burst in, startling her nearly out of her wits. She shrieked, dropped the dish she had been drying, and then grabbed Harry by the ear._

"_Whatever this is about," she hissed, "it better be important because you just destroyed one of my favorite dishes." Petunia glared at the eight-year-old boy in her hands, daring him to speak._

_Stuttering, Harry replied, "I…I did good at school today, aunt. I got a B+ on my math test." He handed her his test, hands shaking._

_Suddenly, Petunia let go of Harry, grabbed the test, and tore it to shreds. Then, she backhanded a very stunned boy, and grabbed his hair. Yelling, she dragged him to the cupboard under the stairs._

"_You just wait until your uncle gets home, you stupid little brat," she screamed, throwing him into the cupboard. As Harry hit the wall, he heard the door lock, and he began to cry, fearing what might happen come dinnertime._

_Later that evening, Harry heard someone fumbling with his cupboard door. Quivering in fear, he waited for it to open, knowing who was on the other side. The door swung open, and Vernon reached in and grabbed the boy. Immediately, he punched the boy in the stomach, causing him to sputter and stumble. Harry began to cry. Smirking, Vernon spoke._

"_You ain't seen nothing yet, boy. Now strip. On the couch. Now."_

_Harry knew better than to disobey, and he removed his shirt and practically ran to the couch. Laying there, he waited for the impending hiss and crack of the whip. When it did not come, he became confused. Shortly, he heard a low chuckle from behind._

"_Stupid boy, you forgot to take it all off," Vernon said, hitting the boy with his belt. Before Harry could move to acquiesce to this strange request, Vernon reached down and pulled his pants off. He began to run his hands over Harry's body, touching him where no one had ever touched him before. Harry lay there, paralyzed in fear, waiting for his uncle to stop petting him and lay into him. Instead, he felt his uncle touching his bum, prying his cheeks apart. Before Harry could wonder what would happen next, he felt a searing pain ram into him, as if someone had decided to jam a stick up through him. Harry screamed, and then felt his uncle hit him._

"_Don't yell, boy," he scolded. "It'll just make it worse." Just when Harry was about to think that it couldn't possibly get worse, he felt something moving, in and out of him. It was as if it was determined to rip him in two, and it was definitely his uncle doing it. He whimpered, and was rewarded with a blow to the head. The moving continued, until it seemed like someone was trying to enter his body with a battering ram. It was then that Harry passed out from the pain._

Harry sat up in bed, panting, drenched in his own sweat. He felt as if he were trapped. His bed felt too small, his cupboard unsafe. It was too dark, he realized, for him to feel as if everything were going to be ok. He had to hide, otherwise uncle might find him, might do to him what had been done before.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he wasn't at the Dursely's house. No, his bed was far too large for that. Looking around as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he realized that he was as far away from home as he could possibly be while remaining in the same country. He took a deep breath. Though he realized where he was, nervousness still wracked his body. The dreams had been all too real. It felt as if he were being violated now, being beaten now. When he closed his eyes, he saw Vernon's angry face. When he opened them again, the dark played tricks on him, making him think that Vernon's hands were just around the bend, waiting to grab him and punish him for something that he'd forgotten to telepathically realize to do.

He had to get out. Without a second thought, he grabbed his makeshift bag and his invisibility cloak and darted out of the dorm. In his hurried attempt to get away from all of his thoughts, he nearly fell down the stairs. Steadying himself, he walked out into the Gryffindor common room and took in the familiar sight. Even though it was nearly three in the morning, a fire smoldered in the fireplace. Overstuffed furniture graced the room, inviting him to plop down and cease this mad dash. He looked around, and realized that no one was in here, and that all of the paintings looked to be asleep. The paintings gossiped nearly as bad as some of the Slytherin girls. Once, he and Hermione had engaged in a late night conversation by the fire, and the very next morning, the entire school had known about it. Convinced that all of the paintings were asleep, he sat down in front of the fireplace and emptied the contents of his bag.

God, he needed a fix. With an eerie efficiency, he began the preparations. A candle was unceremoniously lit. Soon, a spoon hovered over it. Harry watched it in anticipation, waiting for it to boil a bit. He wondered when all of this had happened, when he had become Harry Potter, the boy who did drugs, Harry Potter, the boy who could prepare crack in his sleep. It wasn't something he liked, he knew. It had become necessary. He needed it to get through each and every day. It helped him forget the abuse, the troubles, the fact that Sirius…

Suddenly, the concoction began to boil, and Harry was snapped out of his train of thought. He blew on it to cool it, and then filled his needle, being careful not to get any air into the tip. "Boy, that'd be ironic," he thought, "the boy who kept on living in spite of it all accidentally killed himself trying to shoot up heroin." Suddenly, he felt a release as he injected into himself. All of his problems seemed to float away. He was not hungry, he did not miss Sirius, and he couldn't remember any of the things that had happened to him. Truly, this was Harry's favorite state. It was a perfect state of calm, of comfort.

He barely remembered to clean up his supplies before he passed out on the sofa.

* * *

"Harry, Harry, wake up. You'll be late for Potions," Hermione spoke. She shook Harry gently, trying to get him to open his eyes. 

"I don't wanna get up," he finally answered.

"Well, I hardly think that's an option," she retorted. "Now get up, go upstairs and change, and then we'll go to breakfast." She waited impatiently for a moment before adding, "Harry, I didn't say that you could take your sweet time about it. I said now."

Grudgingly, Harry moved. Just as he was about to get up and walk upstairs, he heard Ron speak.

"Hey, mate, what's this rubbish," he asked, holding up the makeshift bag.

"Oh, it's nothing," Harry replied, grabbing it from Ron. "Just some stuff from home that I was looking at last night." With that, he ran up the stairs, changed with remarkable speed, grabbed his school bag, and ran back down the stairs to see Ron and Hermione waiting for him.

"All right then, mate," said Ron, looking at him and smiling.

"Yeah," said Harry, grinning back. Then, as if nothing was wrong in the least, the three headed off to breakfast, laughing and talking and comparing schedules. "It's going to be a long year," thought Harry.

* * *

"Potter," a voice yelled, "what in blazes do you think you're doing?"

Harry snapped to attention and looked at the cauldron that he and Ron shared. Nothing looked amiss to him. The potion was clearly pink, and smelled of elderberry, just as Snape had said it should. Convinced he could find nothing wrong, he answered.

"Mixing a calming draught," he replied.

"Why did you add essence of raspberry seeds to it," sneered Snape.

"Because it needed it," Harry replied.

"Why? What did you do wrong," said Snape.

"Um…we didn't do anything wrong, professor," said Ron, looking ready to deck the surly potions master.

"Quiet, Weasley. Maybe you didn't do anything wrong, but Potter here did," hissed Snape, glowering at Harry. When Harry didn't respond, Snape glared at him and said, "Fifty points from Gryffindor." With that, he turned abruptly and walked to the other side of the classroom. Predictably, every Gryffindor in the room was glaring murderously at Snape, while every Slytherin looked like they were about to burst out laughing.

Harry looked carefully at the instructions that Snape had written on the board, trying to figure out why he had added essence of raspberry seeds. The compound wasn't anywhere on the board. Suddenly, he remembered, and he spoke.

"Professor, we added it because we accidentally added too much dragon's liver, and the raspberry seeds neutralized the reaction, allowing the potion to return to its proper color and strength," he spoke, still stirring his cauldron. Snape whipped his head around and glared at the boy.

"Twenty points for not following directions, and fifteen points for speaking out of turn. Honestly, Potter, you obviously believe that the rules of decorum apply to everyone but yourself. How nice that must be, to be such a celebrity that you can merely ignore societal rules," Snape scolded. When Harry looked down at his feet, eyes clouded with shame, Snape became confused. He waited for a few seconds, certain that the boy would pull some sort of retort from his arsenal. When it didn't come, Snape simply walked back to his desk and sat there for the rest of the lesson.

Since the beginning of the lesson, Snape had noticed some marked changes in the boy who lived. Namely, he noticed that the boy was much quieter. Now, Snape wasn't one to complain, because he found the boy's silence to be a godsend. It was, however, peculiar and out of character. Also, the boy was more withdrawn. He barely noticed when the other Gryffindors made jokes, hardly acknowledged Ron's impersonation of McGonagall. Most noticeably, though, was Potter's appearance. The boy had always been scrawny, but this year, he was nearly skeletal. Part of Snape was concerned. The rest of him, however, merely pushed the worry aside, thinking that this dramatic change in weight was probably just another ploy to garner attention from his teachers and peers. Satisfied with this explanation of the emaciated Potter, Professor Snape turned his thoughts to grading a stack of sub-par Hufflepuff essays.

At the end of the lesson, Harry and Ron carefully emptied the contents of their cauldron into two flasks, labeled them, and placed them on the potion master's desk. When Snape said nothing, the pair exited the room quickly, not noticing Snape's eyes on Harry.

Harry groaned as he flopped down on the couch, eyeing the pile of homework he had to do that night. Hermione had already diligently began working on some task, although it didn't look much like homework to Harry. Ron was staring at the fireplace, seemingly enthralled by the dancing flames. Harry knew, though, that he was merely trying to avoid starting on their assignments. Harry sighed, and cracked open a book. He began taking down notes for his essay on animagi. He had just gotten to a paragraph detailing how, exactly, someone's animagus was determined, when Hermione interrupted him.

"Harry, Ron, I've made something for each of you," she said, as she handed them each a booklet. Harry's had a picture of a golden snitch on it, while Ron's had a picture of the Chudley Cannons. Harry stared at it, uncertain as to what it was.

"Come now," she nagged, "aren't you going to open them?" She looked at each of the boys expectantly. Harry opened his, wary of what might lie inside. On the first page was a detailed schedule of that week, with due dates of assignments flashing in bright red. He looked at Hermione, wanting an explanation.

"Well, you two always say that you can't remember when assignments are due, so I've placed a charm on these calendars. As soon as a professor says an assignment and its due date, it appears in your planner." She grinned, proud of herself for having thought of such an ingenious idea. When neither of the boys replied, she continued, "and see, I've scheduled time in for quidditch, for fun, and," she said, looking at Harry, "for Occlumency."

Harry wasn't paying attention, however. He'd began thumbing through the book and had discovered that school assignments weren't the only things appearing in this notebook. Rather, it appeared that everything of import that he wanted to do in a day appeared, whether it be doing a homework assignment or making up a "treatment" for himself. He wasn't sure that this book was such a good thing after all. Nevertheless, as he pocketed it, he thanked Hermione. He found it strange that the booklet was in the same pocket as his special bag.

* * *

Snape paced the halls of the school that night, thinking. He did this fairly often. There were some nights that he was unable to fall asleep at all. On those nights, he would wander aimlessly around the school, until he wound up at the astronomy tower. There he would stand, staring into space, and letting his mind wander.

Tonight was different, though. First of all, it was much earlier than usual. Secondly, he couldn't shake the image of Potter from his head. He didn't know why. All he could think about were those dark green eyes, lacking any spirit, any fire. He wanted to know what had happened, why Harry was acting the way he was. He never ate; Snape had observed his eating habits in the great hall. Potter seemed to become more withdrawn every day. It was as if he was wearing a mask.

Snape turned to walk down a different hallway. Recently, he had taken to sneaking into the dorm common rooms, to observe the students. Part of him found this interesting, as if the young wizards and witches were unique species to be studied. Generally, he was disappointed by what he saw. Slytherin girls gossiping, Hufflepuff boys arm wrestling and generally being overly nice to one another. Ravenclaw was probably the least interesting of all, because the students there were all so quiet and studious. Once, on a Saturday night last year, Snape had sat in there for three hours and had seen nothing more exciting than a game of wizard's chess. He'd been disappointed. Occasionally, though, he saw something interesting. Last term, for instance, he had crept into the Gryffindor to see Granger and that Weasely boy being…intimate. He shuddered. There was nothing more repulsive than hormonal teenagers. On another occasion, he had seen a heated debate take place between Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zambini concerning the rights of homosexuals in the wizarding world. Today would be different, though. Snape whispered the invisibility spell before he entered the Gryffindor common room. For a moment, he saw nothing. It was a Saturday, which meant that many of the students were probably out using the room of requirement for something unsavory. He admired the décor of the room. The colors were not to his liking, but all of the furniture looked very comfortable. Suddenly, he heard a noise coming from the stairwell. Instinctively, he jumped, and then scolded himself for forgetting that he was invisible.

Not surprisingly, it was Harry Potter who came down the stairs, looking around the room to see if anyone was there. "The boy always did have a penchant for breaking the rules," thought Snape. When he was content to see that no one was there, he dashed back upstairs and returned with an instrument case and a small bag of some sort. Snape was interested to see just how scrawny the boy looked in his pajamas. Apparently, the school uniforms added about fifteen pounds. Smiling to himself, he realized that he'd heard Pansy Parkinson complain of just that not so long ago. Funny to have her proven right for once. He turned his attention back to Harry.

The boy who lived had settled himself down in front of the fireplace, the golden light playing tricks with his hair. He opened the instrument case and removed a battered guitar. Automatically, the boy's hands moved to tune the guitar. Snape watched in wonderment, as he possessed the musical talent of an oyster. The boy began to strum for a while, playing what seemed to be random nonsense. Suddenly, he began to sing. Snape stared in disbelief, as the voice he heard coming from the boy's mouth was clear, strong, and laden with pain.

"There must be some kind of way out of here

Said the joker to the thief

There's too much confusion

I can't get no relief

Business men they drink my wine

Plowmen dig my earth

None of them along the line

Know what any of it's worth

No reason to get excited

The thief he kindly spoke

There are many here among us

Who feel that life is but a joke

But you and I we've been through that

And this is not our place

So let us stop talking falsely now

The hour's getting late

All along the watchtower

Princess kept the view

While all the women came and went

Barefoot servants too

Outside in the cold distance

A wildcat did growl

Two riders were approaching

And the wind began to howl

All along the watchtower

All along the watchtower

All along the watchtower."

After the boy ceased singing, he continued to play random tunes for quite a while. Snape was mystified. He had never seen this side of Harry before. He looked so relaxed, so comfortable, so free. It was as if all pretension fell away from him and left him exposed for all to see. Suddenly, it occurred to Snape that he had invaded an extremely private moment. Still, he couldn't bring himself to leave. He found himself captivated by the boy, watching his every move, taking in all of his parts.

Abruptly, the music stopped. Harry sat still for a moment, holding the guitar and staring into the fireplace. He seemed to be deep in thought, which, Snape thought, was probably a rarity for him. The shadows from the flickering flames accented the angles in Harry's face, making him appear even more delicate than usual. "He's unusually beautiful," thought Snape. Then, he caught himself and scolded, "Moron, he's just a student." His eyes detected movement, and he saw Harry put the guitar back in its case. Then, the boy took a small, blue candle out of his bag and lit it. He sat there for a moment, and stared at the candle, as if he was mentally fighting with it. Then, Snape saw him take some substances and place them in a spoon. The boy was soon heating the stuff over the candle. "How strange," Snape thought, having never seen anyone do this before. He waited, along with Harry, to see what the results of this experiment would be. He was horrified when Harry, instead of bottling the makeshift potion, retrieved a syringe from his bag and promptly injected the substance into his arm.

Harry went back to playing the guitar.

Snape hurried to Dumbledore's office, uncertain as to what he had seen, but knowing that he needed to tell the headmaster what the idiot boy had done. He simply couldn't shake the image from his head, the image of Harry Potter, doing something to himself. Finally, Snape reached the end of the darkened hallway and turned into the staircase.

"Jello Jigglers," he muttered. The door promptly opened.

* * *

Harry woke up on Sunday morning, feeling very rested. For the first time in a while, he felt truly safe and awake. He sat up in bed and stretched. When he looked around, the room was empty save for himself. "Everyone else must be at breakfast," he thought. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped out of bed. He decided that it was going to be a good day. He could feel it.

As he walked into the common room, a barrage of strange questions immediately greeted him.

"Harry, I think you might be in trouble," said Hermione. "Is there anything you might have done?" She looked at Harry, waiting for him to answer. Before he could, though, Ron ran over and began chattering.

"It's rubbish, I tell you, rubbish. At breakfast this morning, Dumbledore and Snape wanted to talk to us. They asked us if you'd been behaving weird and such. It's just a mad attempt to slander you. Snape's just out to get you," he exclaimed. He then looked at Harry expectantly. For the first time in a while, he looked concerned for his slender friend.

"It is rubbish, isn't it Harry," he asked, worriedly. "I mean, they were saying some awful things earlier, and I thought it was just Snape trying to be mean."

"But Harry," Hermione piped in, "we need you to tell us. Tell us anything that they could be talking about, anything that they think you could be doing that could possibly be reprehensible." The two were met with silence as Harry's mind began to race.

What could Snape have figured out? Harry shook his head and mumbled something that sounded like "fizzing whizbee bacon." With that articulate response, he sat down on the sofa by the fireplace to think. Could it be possible that Snape had figured out that the Durselys were up to no good? Probably not, he decided. If that were the case, Harry hoped he wouldn't be in trouble. He couldn't remember if he had missed any homework. Hermione's enchanted book yelled at him whenever he did, though, so he probably hadn't. Either that or he had, since he didn't want to open the blasted thing. He studied the patterns in the rug and thought some more. What could he possibly get in trouble for?

Suddenly, it hit him. His treatments. Someone, somehow, had found out. Of course, that someone had been Snape. Harry sighed. He would need to begin operation cover-it-up, of course. Luckily, living with the Durselys for eleven years had made him quite adept at hiding things. With that, he got up and walked over to Hermione and Ron.

"Shucks, guys," he said, grinning, "I can't think of anything I could've done" As he finished the statement, he saw the doubtful looks on their faces and thought, "Dammit, that was too saccharin."

"If you're sure, Harry," Hermione replied. "If there is anything, though, you really ought to tell us. We could help you."

"Believe me, guys, if there was something, you'd be the first to know." He tried to smile reassuringly. Somehow, he had to dash up to his room and find a good hiding spot for his bag. Currently, it was sitting under his pillow. Just as he was about to head upstairs to do just that, McGonagall and Snape walked through the door.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, crisply, "You're to come with us."

Before Harry could attempt to buy some time, Snape grabbed him by the arm and said, "You are to come with us. Now." With that, the pair escorted Harry out of the common room and into Dumbledore's office. Harry tried to think of a way to run, but he simply couldn't. Even if he could break away from Snape, which he couldn't, he wouldn't be able to run very far before he was caught again. Instead, he began to panic. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what they were going to do with him, do to him. "What if," he thought, "they send me back to the Durselys? What if they decide that they don't want me here anymore?" Frantically, he began struggling in Snape's grasp, trying to get away.

"It would behoove you," Snape scolded coldly, "not to struggle. I have been authorized to use force." At those words, Harry looked up at Snape with apprehension in his eyes.

"Those beautiful eyes," thought Snape. "If only I could do something to alleviate his fear." He shook his head and chastised himself, thinking, "Fool, he's just a stupid boy who's arrogant to try moronic things to get attention." He continued to drag the boy along the hallway, noticing his increasing panic. Part of the potions master wanted to chuckle, for it was quite entertaining to see the young Potter get his comeuppance. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a feeble attempt on Harry's part to hit him. Instinctively, Snape slapped the boy, and then thought better of ever doing that again when he saw the look on his face. It was a look of complete fear and helplessness. The boy immediately quit struggling. "Obviously," Snape pondered, "he's experienced that before."

Before Snape could consider the ramifications of that thought further, the trio arrived at Dumbledore's office. With an utterance of "Pudding Pops," the three found themselves welcome into the office.

Harry had, of course, been in here before. At one time, he had even found the room comforting. So many things had happened to change that. Dumbledore had lied to him, Sirius had died. The boy who lived found his eyes wandering about the office, taking in the portraits of every headmaster in Hogwarts history. It was strange, he thought, that the portraits were somehow able to keep on living. The office was cluttered with the belongings of Dumbledore, who apparently kept his every belonging here. Harry was afraid to actually look at anyone in the office, although he knew they were all looking at him. Instead, he chose to study the titles gracing the shelves of Dumbledore's extensive library. The volumes of arcane magic were far more interesting than anything else in this room. As he looked at the books, his mind raced. "How," he wondered, "had they figured anything out?" He'd used all of the proper precautions. He wore long-sleeved shirts to cover the track marks. He was careful to keep his supplies hidden at all times.

"While I'm sure you have all day to gaze at books in wonderment, Mr. Potter," sneered Snape, "some of us have responsibilities to tend to." Harry looked up, fear filling his eyes. He was in trouble.

"Yes, Harry, it seems that we have some questions regarding your recent behavior," spoke Dumbledore. "An anonymous person claims to have seen you doing something," he paused to retrieve something from his desk "with this." Dumbledore pulled from hiding Harry's secret bag, and emptied its contents on the table.

"But…but…that's not mine," Harry stuttered.

"We are quite sure that it is, Potter," said Snape. "Now, if you'll kindly tell us why you chose to act the part of an idiot and do this to yourself, we'd all appreciate it. It might even make your expulsion more expedient."

It was then that Harry truly began to panic. Absolute terror coursed through his veins. Expulsion.

"Honest, I was just keeping it for someone," he lied.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke sadly, "we know it's yours. Furthermore, we have strict rules concerning this sort of thing at this school. I'm afraid we have no choice but to send you home."

"No," Harry cried, "you can't…please…I'll do anything…just please don't make me go home."

"I'm afraid we have no choice. While it is possible that the Ministry will overturn our decision, it is not possible for you to stay here," spoke McGonagall. "You will leave tomorrow."

Harry didn't hear anything. He didn't hear his feet hitting the stairs as he ran, didn't hear the gaggle of girls that he nearly crashed into, and didn't hear the wonderment in all of the voices commenting as he passed. Eventually, someone stopped him in his flight and he crumpled to the floor. He continued sobbing, uncertain of everything. The only safe place he knew was being taken away from him. Didn't they understand? He needed the "treatments." He wouldn't use them otherwise. It kept him from thinking, kept him sane, kept him from remembering.

He didn't want to remember. The only thing he had ever wanted was to forget. He had found that.

* * *

Snape was to escort the sullen boy back to his home and hand him off to the Dursleys, who were, he was certain, doting guardians. This was not a task that he savored. It meant tolerating the boy's malaise. Luckily, the boy decided to become even more withdrawn than usual. Part of Snape knew that he ought to be worried, but the greater part of his being didn't care. His duty was to deliver the boy. He was no guidance counselor.

The pair traveled in silence, using oddly shaped portkeys in Hogsmeade. They reached Number 4 Privet Drive with few events. As Snape expected, the house was immaculate. Every blade of grass looked as if it had been placed there painstakingly by hand. The windows were glitteringly clean. There were warm lights shining in the windows, giving the place a safe feeling. It seemed a shame to unleash this unruly boy upon this place. "He might destroy it," thought Snape. He practically dragged the despondent boy up the walkway and rung the bell. After a few seconds passed, a portly gentleman holding a carafe of wine answered the door. Upon seeing Harry, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Before he could speak, Snape ruptured the silence.

"I thought it would interest you, sir, to know that this boy is not to return to school." Snape pushed Harry forward, nearly forcing him through the doorway. Grudgingly, the large man stepped aside to let him pass.

"All of the details are in this letter," continued Snape, handing the man a letter from Dumbledore. "Any questions can be addressed directly to him. Good day, sir." Without another word, Snape turned on his heel and walked down the path, his cape billowing ominously behind him. He hoped to never see the boy again.

It had begun the moment his uncle slammed the door. Harry stood huddled in the corner and watched as his uncle's face became contorted in rage. Without a second glance, he tore the letter Snape had handed him to shreds. Then, he walked over to Harry's corner and glared down at the boy. Standing there, staring up at his uncle's face in fear, Harry realized that it didn't matter if he ever got back into Hogwarts, because he might not live to see that possibility. Just a day ago, he had been living nearly fancy free at school, attending lessons, eating with friends, and fretting over homework assignments. He had been safe. Now, however, he was in peril, and was powerless against everyone. He quaked in fear.

"So," sputtered Vernon, "you thought you'd just drop by, then, hmm? Well, you'll pay for this inconvenience. We just got this house straightened up, and here you are, ready to destroy it again. I'll have you know," he said, throwing a punch at Harry's stomach, "that we are not excited to have you here." Harry received another cuff, this time to the face. "That said, I'm sure we'll make do with your presence."

That said, Vernon grabbed Harry by his arms and pulled him away from the wall. Had Harry not been terrified, he might have realized how odd this would look to an outsider, to see a frightened boy being beaten in a well decorated parlor.

"Your shirt," Vernon began, taking off his belt, "comes off." Quickly, Harry moved to comply, knowing that to do otherwise would be foolish, and only result in further pain. Without being asked, he stood with his face against the wall, back exposed. He knew what was coming. Suddenly, Harry heard the familiar whistle of a belt flying through air. He heard the terrifying crack that leather makes just before it hits the skin, yet he was somehow surprised when it finally struck him. He yelped in surprise, trying to hold back tears as his uncle lay into him. Vernon was muttering something, but Harry didn't care. At this point, when he knew that he would never be happy again, he cared little about what the bastard said. The only desire that Harry had was to shorten the punishments as much as possible.

Abruptly, the beating stopped, leaving Harry wondering, apprehensively, what would come next. He got his answer presently, when he was thrown down upon the sofa. Had it been any other occasion, he might have been happy to lay on the soft, velveteen fabric. Now, however, all he could hope for is that the fabric would somehow soften what was to come. He felt his uncle undo his pants, pulling them off and throwing them onto the floor.

"Having you home won't be all bad," said Vernon, menacingly. "I have missed our little encounters." He moved to remove his pants. "Now, you'll be good during this or else you'll get some extra punishment. Remember, boy, this is nothing more than you deserve." With that statement, Vernon spread the boy's legs and pushed into him. Harry couldn't help but scream, writhing in agony from the pain. Vernon punched the boy in the kidneys, but did not reprimand him for his outburst. He liked it when the boy screamed. It made him feel in control. Again and again, he plunged into the boy, causing one outburst after another until he was sated.

Nearly as soon as it had begun, it was over, and Harry was thrown unceremoniously into his cupboard, the door locked. The boy who lived, sat, rubbing his sore body, and looked around his tiny abode. Everything looked just as it had when he had left for school. His pitiful poetry and artwork still adorned the walls. The lump of linens he called a bed were present and accounted for. His stomach sank, as he realized that this was his home forever. He brightened a little, however, when he realized that since his cupboard had remained untouched during his absence, there might be some heroin stashed somewhere. With that thought fueling his movements, giving him energy, he tore through his pitiful piles of belongings. He emerged triumphant, finding a bag identical to the one that Dumbledore had somehow procured.

Leaning against the wall, Harry felt relief swim over him. He might have to spend eternity in the cupboard, but at least he could be high during it.

* * *

Snape felt a strange emptiness as he stared out into the seemingly vacant eyes of his afternoon potions class. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, not that he'd want to, but something seemed wrong. He watched the students working on their potions, and felt as if the class was incomplete. True, Granger was about, bushy haired as ever, and working diligently to be the brightest student in the class. Weasely was present as well, burning things here and breaking flasks there. He had gone through more equipment in one day than he had all last term. Furthermore, Granger and Weasely kept bickering like an old married couple, having been paired together after the departure of Potter. Their bickering upset the flow of the class. Furthermore, their voices reverberating off of the stone walls of the dungeon gave Snape a headache. Sighing, he rubbed his temples, trying to alleviate some of the tension. He gave up, though, after seeing Neville attempt to boil iron. Instead, he began to pace eerily around the class, glowering over the shoulders of unsuspecting students occasionally, just to give them the willies. He caused Crabbe to drop a flask; soon after, Seamus melted a cauldron he was using. Snape was pleased. He had caused two accidents in less than a minute.

He missed Harry. No, that couldn't be it. That was a ridiculous, preposterous thought. The school had never been so peaceful, never been so productive, never been so…bloody boring. None of the other students fascinated Snape the way that Harry did. There was something about the way the boy moved, something about the way he talked that seemed so very eternally childlike. It was as if he'd never fully grown up. He talked in a small voice, flinched when anyone startled him, and nearly panicked when anyone male touched him. He was quite intelligent, and yet seemed to be ignorant of some basic life skills, such as self-care. He did not seem to be aware of needing to eat, for instance. Actually, now that Snape thought about it, the boy had always acted peculiar. It was strange, was it not, that he could not seem to be comfortable around men, that loud noises startled him? Had Potter been any other student, Snape probably would have noticed the strange behaviors. He was quite at detecting abnormalities in humans, and Potter's actions went beyond normal shyness.

It frustrated Snape to have to admit that he might care. Abruptly, he dismissed the class. He had some thinking to do.

* * *

He didn't know what day it was. Frankly, he didn't care. Get up, clean house, be picked on by Petunia, serve as Dudley's human punching bag, serve as Vernon's human punching bag, get raped, and then be thrown in the cupboard until the next morning. Rinse, repeat. Really, the only thing Harry cared about anymore was being able to sneak out of the house, late at night, to acquire more drugs. He'd gotten to a point where he would do anything to get a fix. Steal something, sure, why not? Maybe he'd get caught and be sent to jail. Unfortunately, Harry was too adept a thief for that. Suck some guy off? Sure. It's not like he hadn't done it before. Vernon was his uncle, after all.

That particular night had been interesting. He'd wound up stealing some cash off a street vendor, paying off the dealer, and then sitting in the park near his house, making sure that he was high as a kite before he went back. Currently, he was sitting on a swing, staring at the stars. The moonlight bathed his face in cool, white light. Like a grade school child, his feet scraped the gravel beneath them.

He didn't even know why he went back. Probably because no matter where he went, Vernon would be able to find him. Besides, where would he go? Harry felt alone in the world, as if no one cared for him. Sometimes he thought about leaving one night and never coming back. He'd never gotten the courage, mainly because he was afraid. Part of him still wanted a family that loved him. Well, he'd lost that as a baby, and he'd gotten the Durselys. Sure, they weren't the best family, but they might love him, someday. If he was the best nephew, if he did everything that Vernon and Petunia demanded, then maybe one day, they would love him.

Love. He didn't even know the meaning of the word. Dumbledore said that love had saved him once, but he suspected that was just an old man's way of saying that no one really knew what had happened. Love couldn't possibly save anything. It was intangible, distributed unequally, and difficult to keep, if you ever got it. He only knew that he wanted it, more than ever. He wanted to be loved for being himself. He didn't want to be a punching bag, a good fuck, or Harry Potter, the boy who lived. He wanted to be loved because he was Harry. Nothing more. He smiled wryly as it occurred to him that he wouldn't know love if it hit him with a ten-foot pole.

The boy who lived stood up unsteadily and began walking back to the Durselys. He quested for their love, but in the meantime, he was going to cook up some good heroin and read some Walt Whitman.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he saw a man in black.

* * *

Sleep did not come easily to Severus Snape. His dreams were discontinuous, disturbing, and too close to reality to allow him any comfort. He often found himself laying awake at night, staring at imagined shapes on the ceiling. On this particular night, he had just awoken from a dream featuring a thin, black haired individual. While he did not know who it was, they seemed familiar. The boy was a recurring character in his dreams. He didn't know who the boy was supposed to represent, what his presence was supposed to mean. He only knew that there was something hauntingly familiar about him. He projected a certain ethereal shyness and seemed dangerously fragile. Severus' every thought while awake had recently been occupied with this character. While he didn't generally hold stock in the arts of divination, he did have the inkling that this dream had some sort of deeper meaning. He had even gone so far as to tell Dumbledore about the dreams, saying that he could hardly concentrate on his job, saying that he woke up nearly every night, confused by the dreams. Dumbledore had merely smiled knowingly and told him that all would be revealed in due time.

"Cursed old man," thought Snape. He rolled over in bed, determined to get some sleep tonight. He had to put up with loads of incompetent students taking exams tomorrow, and would need all the sleep he could get. As he slipped back into unconsciousness, he could have sworn that he heard a small voice begging for help, praying for someone, anyone to love him.

In his dreams, he wandered through darkened streets, slick with rain. At first, the neighborhood looked ominous, unfamiliar. All of the houses looked similar, as if cast into a mold and then placed along the streets. Each flower was purposefully placed, every fence delicately painted white, every blade of grass perfect. The scenery was familiar to him, though he didn't know why. His meanderings led him to a house with lights in the windows. It was the sort of house that appeared in magazines, the sort of house that anyone would want to call home. Snape could imagine the mirth that he would witness inside. A happy family sitting down to dinner, playing board games, eating dessert. The house was full of love, full of everything Snape had lacked as a child, full of everything he had desired. He looked at the house wistfully, and nearly continued his walk. It was then that he felt the sudden need to go into the house. It was irrational, but he thought that there was something to see there.

Up the walkway he went, noticing the precisely placed cobble stones. The door opened for him readily, and why not? He was a wizard, was he not? Not hesitating, he entered the house. The foyer exuded a warm glow, much as he expected. The rug was rich between his bare feet. To his right was a grandfather clock, just about to chime, to his left, a coat rack. The walls were adorned with pictures of a family, all smiling, all doing well. He seethed with envy, recalling briefly his childhood. Shaking his head, he wandered until he saw a large, dining room table. About it sat the three people he'd seen in the photographs, eating and conversing as if they hadn't a problem in the world. Convinced that there was nothing to see there, he turned around and entered the hallway. To his left was a staircase. As he walked, he hardly noticed a small cupboard with its door ajar. For some reason, the cupboard caught his attention.

"_It's not like I haven't spent my life in a cupboard under the stairs."_ Where had he heard such a phrase? It seemed so familiar. He moved to open the cupboard door, exposing his ears to a sound that he was not expecting. Within the cupboard was someone, something, sobbing.

It was then that Snape woke up. With a start, he heard his alarm charm, telling him that it was time to get up, time to teach ignorant gits. Grumbling, he dragged himself out of bed, knowing that he'd be preoccupied with the dream for the rest of the day. He knew, just knew, that within that cupboard had lain his mysterious, black haired boy.

Snape was practically useless for the rest of the day. He cursed at first years, broke glassware, nearly turned Malfoy into a frog, and spilled polyjuice potion on the Granger girl. And that was before lunchtime. By the end of the day, he'd alienated nearly all of the students, not that this was much of a change. Furthermore, most of his colleagues were more concerned for his sanity than usual. He stormed about the school in a black, distracted cloud, wanting nothing more than to get back to his quarters and decide what, exactly, he was going to do.

After what seemed like an eternity, he was able to return to his quarters. He flopped down on his leather couch, much in the way that a teenage boy would, and began to stare at the flames dancing in the fireplace. There had to be, he thought, a way to figure out what the blasted dreams meant. For some ungodly reason, he cared, and the sooner he solved the mystery, the sooner he could stop. He was sick of caring about someone, especially since it was a person who may or may not exist.

It dawned on him suddenly. He could use a modification on a Floo Powder spell to figure out if the house really existed. If it did, well, he'd be transported there, and could figure out what was in the cupboard under the stairs. If it didn't, well, he'd just have to rig the spell to take him to somewhere safe, like Hogsmeade. He was excited, suddenly, having figured out a way to solve the mystery. Rousing himself, he began gathering supplies to cast the spell. He would need Floo Powder, of course, and some unicorn's hair, as well as some snake's blood. Once he acquired all of the supplies, he mused over how to tell the spell where to take him. He had no idea where this place was. All he had was an image of a street with cookie cutter houses lining it. That could easily be any street in England, or the world, for that matter. He thought hard on the dream, trying to pinpoint the most exact location. Finally, he settled on using the image of the cupboard under the stairs. He would imagine the cupboard under the stairs and the mysterious boy that it contained.

Satisfied with this strategy, he threw some of the mixture into the fireplace and took his place in the flames. He closed his eyes, and imagined the scene from his dream in as much detail as he could muster. The stairs were to his left, and made of a warm colored wood. There was a fireplace straight ahead of him. Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation about his middle, as if he were being pulled offstage by a cane. He knew he was going somewhere. He only hoped that it was somewhere real.

After a while, the sensation around his middle ceased, and he warily cracked open an eyelid. He found himself in a dark room. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the dark, and he realized that it had worked. He was standing in the great stone fireplace in the mystery house. Excited, he stepped out onto the hearth and looked around. Except for the lack of light, everything was just as it had appeared in the dream. The photos on the wall featured three happy individuals. The rug was rich and soft looking. Straight ahead, to his right, was a staircase, made of honey colored wood. Rather uncharacteristically, Snape began to feel afraid. He wasn't sure what he would find here, wasn't sure that his mystery boy even existed. Casting an invisibility spell, he stepped off the hearth and began to wander the house. Everything looked idyllic, and yet he could tell that something was amiss. He headed towards the staircase, towards the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Unlike the cupboard in his dream, this one was locked. This surprised him somewhat. Nevertheless, he cast a spell to open it. It was dark in the cupboard too.

"Lumos," he whispered.

The darkness faded away slowly, his wand emitting a warm, glowing light. His eyes explored the cupboard eagerly, taking in every detail. He noticed the tattered papers on the walls, the piles of rags on the floor. Carefully, he stepped into the cupboard. It was larger than he had thought it would be, as it stretched the entire length of the stairs.

Snape examined the walls of the cupboard carefully, seeing that the papers on the wall contained poems, stories clipped from the newspapers, and drawings done by a small child. He looked away from the walls and examined the contents of the cupboard. He noticed that what he had dismissed as a mound of rags appeared to have a human form to it. Nearly shaking, Snape walked over to the lump, careful not to disturb anything. Hesitantly, he reached down and removed a ratty sheet. He gasped.

Under the sheet lay a battered boy with black hair. He was far too thin, he was sleeping, and he wasn't just some mysterious boy. He was Harry Potter. Anger surged through Snape as he looked upon the boy. Clearly, he was being mistreated. Bruises covered his body. He stank as if he'd not washed in many days. "I can fix that," thought Snape. He whispered a cleansing spell and the stench vacated the small room. Unable to contain himself, Snape cast a spell permitting him to view the last forty eight hours of the boy's life.

The horror that flashed before his eyes was unspeakable. Beatings had been followed by rapes, rapes followed by more beatings. The boy had scrounged around for drugs, trying to make his life more bearable. He had begged for mercy, begged for love, and been tortured by his family. Visions of the boy serving the family breakfast flashed before his eyes. He saw the aunt throwing out perfectly good food, saw the boy get smacked when he attempted to sneak some from the garbage. By the end of it, Snape was seething with rage. Before he could think, he had grabbed the boy into his arms and ran out of the wretched house. As soon as he reached the end of the walkway, he apparated into Hogsmeade, careful to not wake the boy. Then, Snape ran as fast as he could to Hogwarts.

* * *

Clean, white light filtered into his consciousness. He could feel warmth emanating from somewhere. Wiggling, he adjusted his position, feeling the soft cocoon of blankets that covered his form. Groggily, the boy who lived opened his eyes to see fire dancing in the hearth. He had no idea where he was.

Terrified, Harry sat up, only to feel a severe pain course through his body. Clutching his chest, he collapsed into the pile of blankets, struggling to breathe. "Where am I," he wondered, "and what happened to my cupboard?" His deep green eyes opened again, and he began to look around the room. The colors were soft and muted. There were no windows. "What kind of house doesn't have windows," he thought. Staring ahead, he noticed a small table in front of him. On it were piles of books, newspapers, and his glasses. Desperate to see the details of his surroundings, Harry reached for his glasses. Gasping in pain, he ceased trying. Instead he lay there, wondering how he had come to be in this completely unknown place. The last thing he remembered was being thrown into the cupboard after one of his punishments.

Suddenly, Harry was snapped out of his thoughts by a sound of movement coming from somewhere in the room. He listened, panicking as the steps seemed to come closer to him. Frightened, he tried to make himself as small as possible, knowing that if he tried to run away, he wouldn't make it.

"I see," a familiar voice said, "that you've finally decided to join the living." A hand held out his glasses. Gingerly, Harry reached out to grab them. When he put them on, his fears were confirmed. The mysterious man was none other than Snape.

"Why am I…I mean…what happened…" asked Harry in a small, confused voice.

"Circumstances did not permit you to be with your relatives any longer," replied Snape.

"But I…where…how…" he stuttered.

"Things being things, you have been readmitted to Hogwarts." Harry's heart soared. "That is," Snape continued, "contingent on your behavior. There are certain activities that you are no longer permitted to engage in." As abruptly as it had risen, Harry's heart fell into a heavy lump in his stomach. There was no way.

"I can't just…stop, though, can I," asked Harry, trembling.

"Fool boy," Snape snapped. Harry flinched, and seemed to curl in upon himself. "Obviously," he proceeded, "you are not expected to be ready to attend classes tomorrow. However, you have gotten lucky, in that the winter holidays are among us." When Harry didn't reply, Snape walked closer to him, and tried to look him in the eye. Harry averted his gaze until he was staring at his stomach.

"Harry," the professor spoke, "you can trust me. I intend to help you." His heart nearly broke when he saw how fast Harry responded to any kindness. The boy looked up into his eyes, full of hope.

"There are rules, though," said Snape. "For instance, you must be open with me. In order for me to help you heal, I need to know what hurts." Nervously, Harry nodded. "Also, I need you to share your emotions with me. I believe that you did what you did because you needed to cope somehow. However, you must learn to cope without any sort of…assistance of that type. Agreed?"

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes wide with fear. Nothing that Snape had said had sounded like much of a choice to him. He kept his eyes on the professor, worried that something might happen.

"Right, then, Harry, drink this," said Snape, handing him a potion. When Harry hesitated, he continued, "it's not poison, if that's what you're thinking. It'll help you relax and sleep while I try to figure out the most effective way of dealing with your…issues." Harry took the bottle and drank. The face he made when the bitter potion touched his tongue made Snape smile. Expectantly, the boy looked at him. Snape merely returned the gaze, waiting for the potion to take effect. He watched as Harry became relaxed, as his eyes began to flutter. The boy's breathing grew slow and regular, and soon, he was asleep. Snape covered him up with a blanket.

Part of Snape felt complete, just sitting here, watching the black haired boy sleep. He knew, though, that this wouldn't help anything. He had to figure out a way to help Harry cope with his problems on his own.

When Harry awoke, the first thing he noticed was the smell of bacon. Someone was frying bacon. He opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings. At first, he forgot where he was, but then he remembered that wherever he was, he was with Snape. Slowly, he sat up and peeked over the sofa to see a strange site.

Snape was whistling. And cooking. And wearing an apron. Had Harry not been so weak, he would have burst into an uncontrollable laughing fit. As it was, he felt a grin spread across his face. He never thought he'd see his surly potions teacher cooking. He became startled, however, when Snape turned his head to check on him.

"I've made some food, if you're hungry." Snape continued to cook, now moving on to frying eggs and pancakes at the same time. Harry's eyes grew as wide as saucers. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen this much food and been permitted to eat it. When he made no effort to move from the sofa, Snape looked over again and said, "well, you'll have to get up to eat, Harry, I'm not a house elf." Hurriedly, Harry got up and nearly ran to the table. When he got there, he began to regret it. Suddenly, he felt faint and dizzy.

"I told you to come get food, Harry, not to exhaust yourself doing so," Snape admonished, placing a plate full of food in front of him. The potions master watched in awe as the boy began to eat, chewing slowly and savoring each bite. Snape hadn't been sure how much food to make. He knew that most teenage boys could eat a house if they were permitted to; however, he also knew that Harry had been starved for quite a while. He hoped the boy would have the sense to stop eating before he made himself sick.

Apparently, however, moderation was not a word that Harry was familiar with. Snape supposed that it was due to the lack of proper nourishment that he ate like he would never see food again. Finally, after Harry was about to start on more food, Snape took his plate away from him and said, "You'll make yourself sick if you keep eating like that." Harry merely nodded, and watched Snape move around the kitchen.

Snape rather liked his kitchen. It was clean, it was rather large, and it allowed him a certain autonomy. His thoughts and work were interrupted by a very small voice.

"Sir," said Harry, looking nervous, "where is your um…" he stopped talking.

"Where is my what, Harry," asked Snape.

"Your…um…bathroom." He blushed.

Resisting the urge to laugh, Snape directed the boy to the restroom and left him there. It made him sad that the boy was so apprehensive about asking simple questions. It wasn't as if he could have known where the bathroom was. He had to ask. Snape dried the last dish and sat down on a chair to read. After ten minutes, he became worried, and went to check on the boy.

He found that the bathroom door was closed. He leaned against it and could hear nothing on the other side. He stood there for a moment, contemplating opening the door, but not wanting to disturb Harry. Hesitantly, he knocked. There was no answer. Snape had no choice but to open the door.

Harry was curled up in a ball, crying. The room smelled of bile, and Snape realized that the youth had probably vomited. He walked into the room, cast a cleaning spell, and looked at Harry.

"I…I'm sorry," the boy stuttered.

"Why?"

"Because I got sick. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have fed me."

Snape was stunned. Obviously, Harry had eaten too much and gotten ill. It was not uncommon amongst those who experienced malnutrition. He shook his head sadly and moved to put his hand on the boy's shoulder. Harry flinched abruptly.

"Please…no…I'm sorry…please don't hurt me," Harry begged.

"Harry," Snape whispered, "no one's going to hurt you." The boy began to rock back and forth, shielding his head with his hands.

"I'm bad, I know. I didn't mean to." He seemed to be delirious now.

The potions master stared in disbelief, seething with anger on the inside. He wanted to hurt whoever had done this to this boy. Harry might be sixteen, but part of him acted like a scared child. He felt useless, like there was nothing he could do to help the boy. Abruptly, he reached down and scooped him up in his arms and walked to the living room sofa. Harry squirmed initially, scared that he would get hurt. Once they were settled on the sofa, Snape began to stroke the boy's head and rub his back.

"It's ok, Harry," he spoke soothingly, "no one here is going to hurt you. You aren't bad. It's ok. You're at Hogwarts. You aren't at home. No one is mad at you for getting sick after breakfast. It happens. You'll just eat later, but we'll make sure you don't eat so much." After talking to the boy for a few minutes, Snape noticed that he had stopped struggling and instead had snuggled into his arms. He had not, however, ceased crying.

"Harry, I need you to talk to me, to tell me what's going on inside your head. It'll help." He continued to stroke the hair of the boy who lived, listening to his ragged breathing, internally hating the blasted muggles that had been Harry's guardians. A whimpering voice broke the silence.

"I need it," the little voice said.

"Need what?"

"My bag."

"You don't need that, Harry," soothed Snape.

"I think I do," cried the boy.

"Why do you need it?"

"It keeps me from remembering," he cried softly.

"Oh, Harry," said Snape, petting the black haired boy, "I know it hurts to remember, but you can't go on hiding from your past this way. It's not healthy; it's not safe. You could accidentally give yourself too much and die, or you could contract some sort of disease. It's just not safe."

"But it hurts to remember," muttered Harry.

"What do you remember," asked Snape. He wondered if maybe Harry would open up to him.

"And I feel sick without it," the boy said, evading his question.

"How do you feel," asked Snape, suddenly worried about withdrawal symptoms.

"My head hurts. I can't eat." Internally, Snape laughed at that one. The boy was hardly what one would call well fed. "And my heart races, I get scared." Without comment, Snape continued to pet the boy, wondering if there was anything that he could do to ease the physical symptoms of withdrawal. He could probably give Harry potions for the headaches, or even give him a strong sleeping draught to get him through the worst of it. Part of him knew, though, that he shouldn't. The boy needed to experience withdrawals, so that he wouldn't be tempted to use any sort of intoxicant again. He needed to be conscious so that Snape could help him work through his fears, his pain.

The older man looked down at the mess of a boy in his arms and sighed. What the boy needed was love.

Later that night, Snape found himself pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. He had weakened in his resolve and given Harry a weak sleeping draught. The boy had been exhausted, trying valiantly to hold his head upright, as if he might miss something if he fell asleep. Snape had been able to coax the boy to eat a small bowl of soup, which he had immediately expelled. The older man had settled with getting him to eat a few crackers, which he did not lose.

He flopped down on a chair and sighed. His eyes rested on the sleeping Harry Potter laying on his couch. Many thoughts raced through his head. He felt strangely attached to the boy, and he couldn't figure out why. Furthermore, he felt the need to take out some revenge upon the boy's guardians. He couldn't tell if this impulse came from his mixed feelings concerning Harry or if he was merely acting the way he would with any child. He decided that it was probably just anger on behalf of his student, and that he'd react similarly regardless of who that student was.

"At least," he thought, "that's what I'm going to tell myself."

His dreams that night were disjointed, as usual. They did, however, have one dramatic difference. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was present in nearly every vignette. Sometimes the boy laughed, sometimes he cried. In every scene, though, he needed Severus, needed his love, his help, his guidance. He wasn't sure he could handle that. In his dreams, he was free to care for the boy, converse with him. In life, there were expectations to be met, ideas and personas to be upheld. While in dreams, Snape could dote upon Harry Potter, in life, such an idea was forbidden. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't love the boy. In his dream, though, Harry reached out for Snape's hand. Snape pulled him into his arms, containing him in a strong embrace. The look of love shone in Harry's emerald eyes. He bent down to kiss the boy.

Then he woke up. Something seemed amiss, though he didn't know what. With an air of urgency, he crawled out of his soft, warm bed and threw on a dressing gown. Quickly, he walked into the living room, to see Harry curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth. Tears rolled down the boy's face. The room was dark; the only light came from the flames flickering playfully in the fireplace. The orange light made Harry look gorgeous, catching on his hair and warming his skin tone. Snape shook the thoughts out of his head and walked over to the boy. Harry seemed to sense his presence, because he started trembling. He reached down to place a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry," he whispered, "it's me." The boy looked up, eyes red and puffy from crying.

"What's wrong, Harry?" When the boy didn't answer, Snape pulled him into a snug embrace. Suddenly, the boy became full of energy.

"I need it," he cried. "At night the memories come back. You don't understand, or maybe you do, but it's so hard to remember." He crumpled into Snape.

"What do you remember that's so hard," Severus asked.

"There's so much noise, so much. Sometimes, I don't know who I am. Some days, I forget my name. I'm only 'it' or 'boy.' Actually, I'm 'boy' on a good day."

"I know who you are, though," whispered Snape.

"And then there's the pain. I don't understand the pain. I try and try to be good, try to do everything perfectly, and I never get anything." Harry choked out a pitiful sob.

"What does it take to be good, Harry?"

"Perfection. I don't know. Doing everything correctly. Remembering to put the right ingredients in when making dinner. Cleaning the bathrooms properly," he answered.

"What happens if you don't do one of those things properly," asked Snape.

"Then you are stupid, worthless, useless, and no one ought to put up with you," answered Harry, with an eerie speed. Snape allowed that statement to sink into his consciousness for a moment without saying anything. He could recall feeling a similar way at certain times in his life. It seemed that no matter what he had done, he wasn't good enough. It had been horrible.

"What happens, though, Harry," he asked. "Say you forget to do a dish, drop it, even. What happens?"

"Punishments," whispered a sobbing and shaking Harry.

"Well, no one needs to be perfect. I suppose we all got in trouble at some point as a child."

"No, you don't understand," Harry began. "When I did something wrong, I would lose food privileges. I would be thrown into the cupboard, and not let out, not even to…"

"It's ok, Harry," said Snape, sensing an oncoming panic attack. He stroked the boy's back, trying to help him relax. He needed to know that he could talk about these things, needed to know that he could deal with his memories without drugs.

"It's not ok," Harry yelled. "It's my fault, it's all my fault. I did everything wrong, I made them hurt me. I made them do things to me. If I had just been good, if I had just responded to their needs faster."

"It's not your fault, Harry. You couldn't have stopped it," replied Snape.

"But I should have been able to. They never did anything bad to my cousin. He must have done everything right. I just deserved it is all. He never got tied up, never got hit, never got…" his voice trailed off.

After that, the pair just sat. Harry cried, remaining curled up against Snape. Severus stared into the fireplace, wondering if Harry would ever be ok, if he would ever be capable of trusting anyone fully. The parallels between Harry's childhood and his were uncanny. Certainly, Severus hadn't responded to his circumstances in the same way that Harry had. He hadn't turned to drugs. Eventually, Severus had even learned to trust others, though he couldn't recall how long it had taken him to regain that ability. There were some days, of course, that he still didn't trust anyone. He thought everyone was out to get him.

Looking down, Snape realized that the boy had fallen asleep. Rising carefully, he moved to place the boy back on the sofa. As soon as he let go, however, the boy emitted a soft whimper. His eyes fluttered. Severus realized that he probably wouldn't sleep long tonight. As he walked out of the room, he heard a small voice barely whisper a request.

"I…don't…I don't wanna be alone…"

Snape smiled, walked back to the sofa, and looked at Harry. He wasn't sure how to go about this. Two people couldn't very well sleep in the living room. The sofa wasn't big enough for that. Severus certainly didn't want to sleep in his chairs, although they were quite comfortable for an afternoon snooze. Finally, he decided that there was really only one place to sleep. Carefully, he picked up the boy and carried him into his bedroom. Gently, he laid Harry on the large bed and covered him with blankets. Removing his robe, Snape crawled into bed with him, being careful to keep his distance. Harry, however, snuggled right up to Snape like a small kitten. Drowsily, Snape stroked Harry's hair. He wondered what, if anything, this meant. He turned his head to look at the small creature curled up against him and smiled. The boy's face was calm, his eyes closed. There was even a faint smile on his face. He looked positively beautiful and at peace. When Snape was sure the boy was asleep, he leaned over and planted a small kiss on Harry's forehead. Then, he lay back to dream.

* * *

He'd never felt safer in his life. It seemed that this morning, everything would somehow be ok. Harry stretched, feeling the warmth and safety that surrounded him. Then he noticed the other body near him.

Abruptly, Harry sat up, forcing his eyes open. Looking around, he noticed a very relaxed Snape lying in bed beside him. He panicked. The room was too small, too dark. He felt trapped, felt like the blankets were holding him down, hoping to keep him restrained for eternity. His eyes fell to Snape, and he felt his heart race. Why was he in a bed with another man? This was the sort of thing that only happened when…

He bolted out of the room, not caring what he knocked over. Finding himself in the living room, he knew he had to do something, anything. It had happened again, he just knew it. There was no other explanation. Frantically, he searched the room for something, anything, to take his mind off of the thoughts running through his heads. Drawers were opened, revealing books that at other times, he would have found fascinating. He encountered blankets, chess sets, others wizarding games, and dishes. Finally, he opened a cupboard to find something that would help. The cupboard contained liquor. Vodka, he knew, not that it mattered. He opened the large bottle and began to pour the foul liquid down his throat. It tasted the way that his aunt's nail polish remover had smelled. Still, the taste didn't stop him. He continued to pour the alcohol down his throat until his mind stopped playing the pictures in his head. Then, he passed out.

Snape awoke from a restful sleep and rolled over, only to find his companion missing. This seemed odd to him. Opening his obsidian eyes, he looked around the room, half expecting to see Harry curled up in a chair. The green chair by the fireplace was empty, though. He felt his feet hit the soft carpet as he began his search for the boy. He walked into the bathroom, wondering if Harry had decided to take a shower. Everything in the bathroom was as he had expected, excepting one thing. It lacked the boy. Cream tile covered the floor, unmarred by anything. He exited, entering the kitchen. Everything there was in its place. He looked over into the living room.

It was a disaster. Chairs were overturned, books strewn about, blankets thrown over lamps and chairs. Every drawer was opened, its contents emptied onto the floor. He walked over, and saw the cause of the mess. Harry was lying on the floor next to the liquor cabinet. In his hand was a bottle of vodka, most of which was gone. His entire body was curled into a ball, as if he was trying to protect himself from something. Snape was horrified. He had no idea how much alcohol the boy had consumed. It had been ages since he had used any of his items in his liquor cabinet. He reached down to check on the boy, and when he was satisfied that he hadn't drowned himself in drink, he took the bottle out of his hand, scooped the boy up, and carried him into the bedroom. Gently, Snape placed him on the bed and covered him with a blanket. Then, he went into the living room to clean up.

Hours later, Snape was sitting in front of a blazing fire, sipping a mug of warm cider. He was worried. Something had happened to cause the boy to find an escape. Luckily, Harry had been unable to find anything more dangerous than alcohol. After today, though, he would be hard pressed to find that. Snape had made a point of ridding his quarters of all possible intoxicants. He wanted the boy to talk through his troubles, not run from them. Running from his troubles was simply no longer an option. The boy would have to face his past, have to realize that he was a worthy person. Aimlessly, Snape began to think of Harry as being his. His to protect, his to care for.

Snape ran a hand through his dark hair and stared into space. It had been ages since he'd felt even the inkling of emotion towards another human being in this manner. Sure, he cared for his colleagues, in a way. He always made certain to send Albus a birthday card, and he never forgot that Minerva liked jolly ranchers. This was different, though. Every inch of his being wanted to help Harry recover. No part of him felt that he had a choice in the matter. It was not possible. He had to care for Harry. Closing his eyes, he began to daydream. He could see the two of them laughing over dinner, playing wizard's chess late into the night. The two of them going on long walks for no particular reason, sitting under trees for hours. He could see Harry's green eyes as he leaned in to kiss him…

Snape jumped. Such thoughts were not appropriate. Harry was his student. Even if he had feelings for the boy, it was wrong to take advantage of the boy. Wanting to forget the happy dream, he got up and began to find tasks for himself around the house.

* * *

A train had crashed into his head. That was the only possible explanation for this feeling. His mouth was dry and felt like it was stuffed with cotton, not unlike a new bottle of aspirin. Every part of his body felt as if it were being bombarded with pain. Blasted air molecules, thinking that they could just move around willy nilly, and cause him pain. Vainly, he tried to fall back into unconsciousness, hoping that then the pain would diminish. When this didn't happen, he forced open his eyes. Though the room was dark, the perceived light nearly blinded him. His head swam as he tried to sit up. It was then that he felt his stomach churn. Instinctively, he ran to the bathroom, crashing into the walls.

The potions master could hear someone stumbling around in the house, using the facilities. Putting down the flask he was about to empty into the cauldron, he left his lab and wandered into his living room. He watched as a very disheveled Harry Potter stumbled out of the bathroom. The boy was completely disoriented and seemed to lack all motor skills. Part of Snape found this quite amusing, but he tried to squelch the urge to laugh. The boy's black hair stuck up in every direction. He had circles under his eyes, and it was obvious that he'd forgotten how to dress himself, because his shirt was on backward and inside out. He crashed into the couch.

"Finally awake, are we Harry," spoke an amused Snape. Harry grumbled a response, something involving butterflies or possibly giant squid.

"You should probably eat something," Snape said. "You had quite a night." He went to the kitchen and began to make the boy some toast, thinking that anything more complicated might cause him to be sick again. It was then that Harry began acting strangely, even for Harry. He stumbled over to Snape, fell to the floor, and began to sob.

"Please, sir," he begged, "I need it so bad." Harry's tear filled eyes looked up at Snape. "I'll do anything you want," he continued, "anything."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Snape said.

"Just a little fix," he continued. "That's all I need. It doesn't need to be big. Just enough."

"Unluckily for you, Harry," Snape spoke, "I am quite familiar with the symptoms of withdrawal that occur when someone is denied their intoxicant of choice. It is not my prerogative to provide you with any drugs." Harry sobbed again, and began tugging at Snape's clothes. His hands moved upwards, toying with his waistband. Before Snape could think, the boy had undone his pants and was pulling them down around his ankles. Abruptly, Snape pushed Harry away and pulled his trousers up.

"You obviously do not understand, Harry. I won't give you anything. Nothing you do will persuade me to give you any drugs. You can talk to me. I can listen to your thoughts. I'll even try to help you reason through your problems." He stepped away from the boy before his pants wound up around his ankles again.

Harry scrambled to be next to Snape, hoping that he would be able to convince him to give him drugs. He knew that the man could get him some. He was a potions master, for crying out loud. He probably synthesized drugs.

"Anything, sir," he said, "I'll do anything you want me to." He tried to undo Snape's pants again, convinced that if he could just get the professor off, that maybe he could get some relief. He was again pushed away, but this time, instead of scolding him, Snape picked him up and carried him to the couch. Snape was startled, though, when Harry began to remove his clothes.

"Stop it, Harry," he scolded. "That's not going to get you anywhere. Put your shirt back where it belongs." He wanted to scream, really. The potions master had no idea who had convinced the boy that he could trade his body for drugs, but he wanted to find them and throttle them. Another part of him, though, wanted to take advantage of the boy's willingness to let him have his way with him. It would be so easy, he though, to just take the boy right here. Silently, he scolded himself, and realized that the boy was now curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, shivering and crying. Again, Snape pulled Harry up onto the couch and held him in his arms, ignoring the boy's pleas for drugs, attempting to soothe him by stroking his back.

They sat like that for three days, moving only when Snape forced the boy to eat and drink.

* * *

"December 24th, nearly Christmas," he thought. Normally, his Christmas celebrations were nothing

to write home about. Dinner with Dumbledore, a night spent by the fire, reading. This year,

however, was different. For some reason that was beyond him, he felt compelled to give the boy who

lived a proper Christmas, something that he was sure the boy had never had. He had set out into

Hogsmeade that morning, casting a bonding charm on the boy so that he would know if he had any

trouble. Snape wasn't sure what, exactly, constituted a proper Christmas. He knew that there was a

tree involved, and probably a meal of some sort. Mainly, though, he knew that there were presents.

"What does one get the person who has nothing," he thought. He headed into Zonko's Joke Shop, but

left abruptly. He didn't care what the youth of today found fun or appropriate, he wasn't spending

any of his money on that. He didn't want stinkbombs going off in his quarters. He popped into

Honeyduke's and purchased some candies. Secretly, Snape had always rather enjoyed chocolate frogs.

When he was a child, he used to dream that one day, he would be a good enough wizard to be placed

on a trading card in a chocolate frog candy. He also purchased some Bertie Bott's Every Flavor

Jelly Beans and some pumpkin tarts.

Still, though, he wasn't sure what kind of present to get the boy. Aimlessly, he wandered the

streets, staring at the other wizards out doing their last minute holiday errands. Looking at some

women, he wondered what they got their teenage sons or daughters. He realized the only way to get

the proper thing for Harry would be to ask. "Bloody hell," he thought. Snape hated having to admit

ignorance. He took a deep breath and walked toward the group of chatting ladies. Almost shyly, he

looked at them and began to speak.

"Um," he stuttered, "I was wondering if I might ask a question." Nervously, he looked at the

women. He was expecting them to lash out, to be mad. Instead, they smiled.

"Of course," one woman replied. She was amused by this great, tall man who seemed to be reduced to

a small child at the prospect of asking for help.

"You see," Snape continued, "there's this teenage boy I know and he's never had a proper Christmas

and..."

"Oh, we'll help you," spoke another woman, excitedly. "How old is he?"

"Um..."stammered Severus, "I think he's 16."

"Well then, we'll just take you with us," the first lady spoke, nearly dragging Snape with her as

she entered a store. Bewildered, Snape followed, wondering what these ladies had in mind for him.

Certainly, as he looked around the store, he realized that this was the last sort of place that he

wanted to be. Fluffy bows adorned everything, and the lights were far too bright. There was a

sharp hint of pine in the air. Chattering excitedly, the women pulled him towards what appeared to

be boy's clothing.

"But he...school...uniform..." spoke Snape.

"Nonsense," said one of the women, "what about dates? You think he wants to wear his school duds

on a date?"

Snape wasn't sure that Harry would ever be whole enough to date, but the woman probably had a

point.

"I don't know what size he is," mentioned Snape.

"That's why you buy charmed clothing. It automatically sizes itself to the wearer." She tossed him

a burgundy jumper and a pair of corduroy pants.

"What colors does this boy like," asked another lady.

"I have no idea," said Snape.

"Well, what does he look like?"

"Um...he has hair...it's black. I think his eyes are green," Snape spoke. He felt like an idiot.

Of course he knew what Potter looked like. He just couldn't describe it properly. His mind wanted

to spit out all sorts of things. He wanted to mention that Harry's hair was unruly and poked up in

every direction, that his eyes were the deepest green he'd ever seen. Instead, he was reduced to a

faltering, stammering child.

"Oh, then he'll look good in red," said one lady. She grabbed a few pullover shirts and threw them

to Snape.

"Um...I think perhaps this is enough clothing," said Severus, eyeing the pile of young men's

clothing in his arms.

"Very well. What else does this young man like," inquired one woman.

"He plays guitar," recalled Snape.

"Oh, then I know just the place!" Before Snape could protest, he was pulled out into the street,

clothing still in hand, and directed into the tiniest music shop he'd ever seen. Clearly, his day

was just getting started.

* * *

When Harry woke up, he realized that he was alone for the first time in days. There was no Snape

to talk to him, to keep him from doing as he wished. The quarters were his to explore, his to

enjoy. It was strange, he thought, that he didn't want to do anything wrong. He wasn't really in

the mood to get high, not that he could anyway. Snape had seen to that. He didn't really feel like

thinking about the past. There would be enough of that in the future. Instead, Harry sat curled up

on the sofa, staring at nothing, and enjoying the warmth of the room. He realize that he had no

idea what day it was, and smiled. Soon, he knew, he would have to return to school, but Snape

would probably mention that. Eyes closed, he began to daydream.

He saw Snape. For some reason, the potions master had taken a prominent spot in his dreams and

daydreams. He couldn't figure out why. In the dream world in Harry's head, Snape was not "sir" or

"professor," but "Severus" or "Sev." He did not scowl. Instead, the older man laughed, enjoyed

spending time with Harry, reveled in life. There was something there, Harry knew, but he didn't

know what. He knew that he wanted something, but there were no words for what he desired. He just

knew that when he saw the potions master in his dreams that he was left longing for something. At

the same time, he feel terrified, because of the ambiguity and novelty of it all.

"Maybe," he thought, "I want Snape as a family member." Running his hands through his hair, he

realized that he didn't know what the duties or traits of family member were. Turning his

attention back to his fantasy, he saw Snape walking towards him, Snape holding out his hand.

Nervously, Harry took it. Then, Harry became too scared to continue to dream. The mystery scared

him.

The boy walked over to the corner, where Snape had stowed his guitar. Gently, he picked up the

instrument and began to play. Aimlessly he played, filling the room with gentle music for hours.

Song after song poured from the boy. He didn't notice when Snape entered the room, didn't realize

that the older man was standing in the doorway, watching him play.

He stared at the boy in wonderment. He'd never been exposed to much music. His father had

preferred silence, and his mother had bowed to her husband's desires. It fascinated him to hear

lilting notes float through his living space. Harry looked calm, relaxed. The boy had talent. The

potions master could have stood there for hours, listening to the boy play. So he did. Gently, he

placed his bags down onto the floor, and then he stood in the hallway, watching the boy he

secretly desired play. He let his eyes carefully examine the boy's face. Though Harry was thin due

to mistreatment, his features were beautiful, as if sculpted in fine porcelain. His petite hands

moved over the battered guitar with ease. Had his eyes not been obscured by shaggy, unruly black

hair, Snape would have noticed that the green orbs were closed.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, Harry ceased playing and placed the guitar in the

corner. Without seeing Snape, the boy collapsed onto the sofa and stared into the fire. It was

then that Snape entered the room. He was careful to make enough noise to alert the boy to his

presence before actually entering. Placing his bags on the kitchen table, he looked over to Harry,

who had turned to look at him. He smiled drowsily.

"Where've you been," Harry asked.

"Out," replied Snape.

"What'd you do?" Clearly, the boy was trying to make conversation.

"I had some errands to run," replied Snape.

"Oh."

A minute of awkward silence passed between the two, as Snape moved to put away his purchases. He

shuffled items around in cupboards. He heard the shuffle of feet and knew that Harry had stepped

into the kitchen as well.

"You wouldn't want to play wizard's chess, would you," whispered Harry shyly. Snape's heart almost

broke. He knew from the way that Harry asked that his offers of companionship were always

rejected. He looked over to Harry, who was staring at his feet, looking like he would run if need

be.

"Sure, I just need to finish putting a few things away," Snape replied. He smiled as Harry

excitedly trotted to the living room to set up the wizard's chess board. So excited for such a

little bit of companionship.

Walking over to the chess set, Snape wanted to laugh at how Harry had set up the pieces. It was

obvious that he hadn't played wizard's chess much. In fact, Snape was willing to bet that he was

pretty terrible at the game.

"You've played wizard's chess before," asked Snape.

"Occasionally. Ron normally wins though," said Harry.

"Interesting," muttered Snape.

"What's so interesting about that," asked Harry, ready to defend his friend's honor.

"He just doesn't seem like the type who would like wizard's chess, that's all," replied Snape.

"Well, he doesn't, not really."

The two began to play in silence, Snape allowing Harry the first move. He waited for the onslaught

of taunts to emerge from the persnickety pieces.

"Hey Snape," hollered the boisterous bishop, "who's the cute boy? Another one of your boy toys,

hmm?" Snape glared at the bishop.

"What," asked a queen, "Snape has a boyfriend? Sure took him long enough."

"I'll say," interjected the king.

"No one asked you," scolded the queen.

"Sorry."

Snape could hardly look Harry in the face from embarrassment. He wanted to chuckle and murder the

chess set at the same time. Finally, he got the courage to look at Harry, who had turned an

interesting shade of crimson. Silently, the boy who lived moved a piece. Then, the other side of

the chess board came to life.

"Hey, who are you," asked one of Harry's pawns.

"Yeah," chimed in one of the knights, "we've never seen you before.

"I'm telling you," said Snape's queen, "he's the new fellow."

"He's much skinnier than the other one," replied the knight.

"Maybe we should just let them play," suggested Snape's king, noticing the embarrassment on Snape's

face."

"No one cares what you think," yelled Harry's queen.

"I think it's a good idea," said Harry's king, in a weak attempt at defending his fellow monarch.

"No one cares what you think either," bellowed a knight.

Snape moved his bishop just so that it would take out one of the bickering queens.

"Right, about time someone took her out," muttered her knight. "So Snape, tell us about this new

kid over here."

Harry attacked using a knight, which he would soon learn was a bad idea, at least according to the

pieces.

"No, no, boy, you don't move a knight to attack a queen or a bishop, least not yet. Besides, if

this is your first date, you should let Snape win. If he wins, he puts out." At that statement,

Harry simply looked confused.

"I follow you up through the 'let Snape win' part. But what's this rubbish about 'putting out',"

asked Harry.

"Don't listen to them, Harry," spoke Snape abruptly, afraid that the pieces would upset the boy

with their certain to be explicit explanation of 'putting out.' Abruptly, he began gathering up

the chess pieces.

"Maybe we should play a game that doesn't talk back, hmm Harry," asked Snape.

"Okay."

In silence, the pair sat. Snape was at a loss for a game to play. He looked at Harry, who seemed

content to just sit on the soft sofa.

"Harry, what happened with your relatives," asked Snape. Harry looked at him like a deer in the

headlights.

"Um..."

"I just ask because I think perhaps it would help you to talk about it. Maybe the past would seem

less scary if it were talked about."

"Well, I don't know where to start," whispered Harry. His personality seemed to shift instantly.

Just moments before, he had joined Snape in laughing in embarrassment at the chess pieces. He'd

seemed almost normal. Now, however, he seemed to be no more than a scared little boy.

"Wherever you feel comfortable, Harry, is the place to start," replied Snape.

"I was bad," he spoke quietly, "I never did things right. I forgot to cook dinner right, or I

didn't fold Dudley's shirts, or I broke a dish. I tried to do everything they wanted, but..."

"But what, Harry," coaxed Snape.

"It was never right. All I wanted was to please them, so that they would love me. I never did

enough," he said, his voice cracking.

"What happened when it wasn't enough?"

"Then they hurt me," whispered Harry, tears in his eyes. "I couldn't stop them. I did everything I

could to make them happy, but I failed. I guess," he muttered, "they just gave me what I

deserved."

"You didn't deserve it, Harry," sad Snape, reaching out to give Harry a hug. "No person deserves

that." He felt the boy curl into him, as if he were a puppy.

"Then why did they do it," cried Harry. "My cousin, he never got hurt, never had to go without

food, never had to..."

"Had to what, Harry?"

"He never had to do things that hurt. He doesn't know what it's like to have someone tower over

you like that, and you're so small, so helpless, so scared, and all they do is hurt you. You just

want them to love you, and so you think that maybe this time, you'll behave just right, and it'll

all just stop," rattled off Harry. He sobbed.

"Harry, you didn't deserve what happened to you." Snape petted the boy's back, trying to pass

calming energy to him through his hands.

"Then why.." began Harry.

"I don't know, Harry, I don't know."

Snape listened to the boy mutter for hours, silently growing angrier and angrier at the blasted

muggles. With every fragmented tale of neglect, he wanted to hurt them. Every time abuse was

mentioned, he wanted to slaughter them, torture them. All he could do, though, was hold Harry and

reassure him that it wasn't his fault. Finally, though, Snape looked down at the boy leaning into

him and realized that he had fallen into a fitful slumber. Gently, he lifted the boy and carried

him to the bedroom. Harry had taken to sleeping with Snape simply because it was easier to keep

tabs on him that way. The potions master was able to respond more quickly to the boy's nightmares,

more able to talk him through any cravings for drugs. Secretly, he knew, it allowed him to sleep

in the same bed as the person he had come to call "his."

Yes, like it or not, Snape was becoming attached to Harry, although he didn't quite understand the

meaning of the feelings. He only knew that every time the boy cried, he wanted to take away his

pain, every time the boy laughed, he wanted to treasure.

Laying the boy who lived down on the bed, he whispered, "Goodnight, my boy." Tentatively, he

brushed the boy's forehead with a light kiss. Silently, he walked out of the room, making certain

to cast bonding charms between him and Harry. He then began his Christmas preparations. Carefully,

he wrapped up the clothes and music books he had purchased for the boy. Although it was against

his nature to be decorative, he tied bows on each box. He sat back and admired his handiwork,

smiling at the penguins adorning the wrapping paper. Then, he began the task of erecting the tree.

Part of the professor wanted to taunt himself, for here he was, getting ready to decorate a

Christmas tree. Instead, he decorated the tree with sparkling lights, glittering ornaments, and

tinsel. Taking a step back, he admired the way that the lights shone through the pine needles. He

placed the parcels under the tree.

Like a small child, Snape was now inexplicably too excited to feel tired. He couldn't wait to see

Harry's face, to hear what he had to say about the whole thing. The little voice inside his head

snidely reminded him that James and Lily Potter had been Jewish, but the rational Snape knew that

the muggles hadn't raised Harry with any semblance of tradition. Harry probably didn't even know

what a synagogue was. No, the boy didn't even know what it was to be loved, something that was far

more basic and essential than any religion. Religion was near useless, in Snape's opinion, unless

accompanied by love. The question was, though, if Harry would ever be able to trust someone enough

to love and be loved. Snape hoped that the muggles hadn't broken him so badly as that.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he could smell someone cooking. Scents of ginger, cloves, and

cinnamon had wafted into the bedroom. The distinct aroma of coffee cut through the sweeter smells.

Stretching, Harry was not surprised to find himself in Snape's bed. He had become used to this

occurrence, although he still panicked occasionally. The noise and smells from the kitchen were

too much for him to ignore. He knew that, unlike the Dursleys, when Snape cooked, he generally

shared with Harry. Related to this, Harry had gained some weight since residing with Snape,

although Harry hadn't noticed. The professor took pride in Harry's no longer emaciated appearance.

Still in his borrowed pajamas, Harry wandered out into the kitchen. His eyes went wide at the

scene.

In the living room was an enormous Christmas tree, covered in lights and colorful ornaments. The

scent of pine now invaded his nostrils, competing with the smells of cooking also present in the

room. A fire roared in the fireplace. The table was covered in goodies. Apparently, Snape had been

busy. There were ginger bread cookies, pumpkin pie, and even a small ginger bread house. Harry

noted with amusement that Snape's talents did not lie in the artistic realm. Wide eyed, he looked

at Severus, expecting some sort of explanation.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," said Snape, smiling. "Would you like a cookie.?"

Nervously, Harry took a cookie, expecting this to be some sort of weird trick, or better yet, some

kind of malicious dream. The cookie tasted real, but it couldn't possibly be. Snape noticed the

boy's silence. He had expected this. Since no one had ever been openly nice to the boy, he was

expecting it all to come crashing down around him.

"I figured that since there are two of us here this year, we ought to have a real Christmas.

Normally, I just join the other teachers for dinner and games, but this year..." he trailed off,

his eyes on Harry. The boy had just discovered that there were presents under the tree. He watched

as, for the first time, Harry experienced finding a present with his name on it on Christmas.

There was, of course, the parcel he always received from Mrs. Weasely. Snape knew, though, that

this was different. These presents were all under a tree, in a warm, safe home. Gently, Harry

picked up one of the gifts and traced the design of the wrapping paper.

"You can open them, you know," Snape prodded.

"It's just I don't have anything for you," the boy whispered, looking at Snape with wide eyes.

"Yes, well, that doesn't matter," replied Snape, not wanting to speak the truth. In reality, the

boy had given him a gift already. Even if Harry was never able to reciprocate any emotion, the boy

had given Snape the ability to care about someone again. He realized then and there that he loved

Harry Potter.

"Go on, Harry, open them."

Harry didn't need any more coaxing. He tore the paper off of one parcel, revealing the new clothes

that Snape had purchased.

"I...wow...never had new clothes before," Harry stammered.

"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" Harry nodded, and excitedly put on the

sweater that Snape had purchased. The ladies had been right. Harry looked wonderful in burgundy.

Harry reached for another parcel and opened it, revealing new music books. Snape had suspected

that the boy had never actually had any musical training.

"Thanks," he whispered, thumbing through the books. Looking up at Snape, he spoke again, his eyes

wet with potential tears. "Thanks...Sev..."

"I'm happy to do it for you, Harry," said Snape, secretly thrilled to have the boy use his first

name. He walked over to Harry and set a cup of cocoa by him. Severus was content to watch the boy

enjoy his new clothes, his books, the day. He was sitting on the couch, listening to the boy

attempt to play a song out of his new book when the music suddenly stopped, and there was a warm

body sitting next to him.

"Um," said a small voice, "I was wondering..."

"Yes," spoke Snape.

"Um...could I...could I..." the voice stopped abruptly, and Snape could tell that it was because

the boy was scared of something.

"What is it, Harry?"

"I just...I don't know why, exactly, but I was wondering if maybe I could hug you," whispered

Harry. Shyly, he looked at his feet, suddenly interested in the movement of his toes. To answer

his question, Snape gently placed one arm around Harry. The boy started for a second, but then

move to hug Snape. Severus' heart nearly burst with joy when he felt the thin arms wrap around

him. Snape softly stroked Harry's messy hair. He knew that this could be all that he'd ever get

out of Harry, but he didn't care.

"Sev," spoke Harry.

"Yes?"

"Can we play wizard's chess again?"

Snape laughed. "Of course, but only if you can put up with the heckling pieces. They tend to

be...inappropriate at times."

As an answer, Harry shrugged, and began to set up the chess pieces.

"Hey, look who's back," hollered a knight.

"Didn't get enough, hey kid," questioned a wily bishop.

"Well that's obvious, Oliver," scolded the white queen, "he's still here, isn't he?"

"Your name is Oliver," asked an incredulous Harry, picking up the bishop.

"Yes, and if you'll kindly put me down, maybe I'll be nice to you." Hurriedly, Harry placed the

bishop down on a square.

"Do they all have names," he inquired of Snape.

"Probably."

"We bloody well do all have names, thank you very much," spoke the indignant black queen. "I'm

Elizabeth."

"Well, don't be rude, boy," chided a knight, "introduce yourself to us. We already know the slimy

git," he said, indicating Snape.

"I'm..um...Harry...," answered the boy.

"Oh, a real eloquent one this is," chimed in a pawn, "where'd you find him, Sev?"

"That is none of your business," he replied, purposefully using the pawn in a move that he knew

would get the pawn 'killed.' Looking at Harry, he said, "I suggest you do the same."

When Harry picked up a pawn, he was assaulted with a barrage of questions.

"Are you his boyfriend, because if you are, you're pretty cute," said the pawn. "Are you going to

stay? Sev never uses us when no one is here. We're forced to just stay in that blasted small box,

waiting for someone to play with us."

"You're chess pieces," scolded Severus. "That's what you do, waiting for people to play with you."

"That's all well and good for you to say," retorted the pawn. "You've obviously never seen our

living quarters."

"Actually, I have," sneered Snape. "I picked them out myself. You'll notice the utilization of

furniture to make them more comfortable." He immediately took out the pawn when Harry placed it on

the board. The boy was terrible at wizard's chess. Snape suspected that the boy hadn't really

wanted to play chess so much as listen to the pieces bicker. He then got up to refill his cup of

coffee. It was then that the black queen leaned, as much as a chess piece can lean, anyway, and

whispered to Harry.

"He loves you, you know," she said to a very surprised Harry.

"What," asked an incredulous Harry.

"He loves you," she repeated.

"Is this what it feels like, then," pondered a very confused Harry.

"Is this what what feels like," asked Snape, returning to the table.

"Oh, the queen and I, we were just talking is all," said a blushing Harry. "I...um...have to go to

the bathroom." Snape followed the boy with his eyes, and then picked up the queen.

"What did you tell him," he threatened.

"Oh, just the truth, that's all," she answered mysteriously.

"What does that even mean," he asked.

"You know what it means, Sev. You know that I only do what I'm good at," she said provocatively.

"He told him," helped a king.

"Damn it, Edward," yelled the queen, "why did you have to go and ruin my fun?"

"You were making him suffer," replied a sheepish king.

"You know I don't care about that, you idiot," she retorted. Chided, the king returned to his

square. The queen turned her attention to Snape. "I merely told him that you had feelings for

him."

"You didn't."

"Yup," she said, flicking her hair flirtatiously.

"You've probably scared the poor boy," he said.

"Oh, I wouldn't have told him had I thought it would do any harm," alluded the queen.

"What, exactly, are you talking about," said Snape, furrowing his brow.

"He has similar feelings," she stated simply.

"How do you know?"

"I have my ways. He's been hurt, though," she worried.

"That's an understatement," replied Snape, bitterly.

"He doesn't understand his feelings," she continued.

Snape sighed, not sure that he understood his feelings either. He was, after all, talking to a

chess piece. That had to be a sign of madness.

"You must help him understand his feelings," instructed the queen.

"But how do I do so without scaring him away," asked Snape.

"Take your time, it's that simple," she replied.

"You better not be fucking with me," he warned.

* * *

The rest of the break passed without event. To the untrained eye, very little change occurred in the relationship between Harry and Severus. This was far from the truth, however. Small gestures indicated otherwise. Snape was careful to keep his voice low and soothing around Harry, mindful of his body language, and refrained from calling the boy who lived anything but, well, Harry. Never had Snape taken such pains with anyone. He'd been reserved, severe, and austere for the majority of his life, and though he was not an old man, he often seemed that way due to his demeanor. The boy who lived had awoken something within the professor that compelled him to care about people. Instead of viewing the boy with indifference, he wanted to protect him, help him to not feel pain, help him grow into a stronger human being. Harry had gone nearly all of his young life without having his needs met, and Snape wanted to be the person to rectify that.

Changes to Harry were more obvious. He was quieter, not having the façade of intoxicants to hide behind. Little things startled him now, as Ron noticed one day at lunch. The red-haired boy had playfully jabbed Harry with his elbow only to have Harry shrink into himself for a few minutes. Puzzled, Ron vowed to be more careful around his markedly changed friend. It was Hermione, though, who broached the subject with Harry at dinner.

"Harry," she'd said carefully, "you seem different to me. What's up?" She looked at her friend quizzically.

"It's…well…I don't really want to talk about it here," Harry answered.

"It's not a boy, is it," questioned Hermione. She and Ron had long known that Harry fancied boys. They knew, although Harry did not. When Harry shook his head, she sighed. "What is it then?"

"Well, there have been…changes recently," he replied.

"What sort of changes?"

Harry didn't know where to begin. How could he possibly explain his previous life with the Durselys, his foray into drug use, and his utter confusion with relationships to his friends? He looked at his bushy haired friend fondly. He knew she had his best interests in mind. Hermione was like that. She took care of her boys. Ron was the one she loved, the one she would marry. Harry was like her brother. She cleaned up his messes, fussed over his injuries, and laughed with him. His eyes moved to Snape, who was looking at him fondly. Harry had never been so confused in his entire life.

"I'll explain, or try to, later this evening," he whispered. As luck would have it, it was a Friday night. The trio would be able to corral themselves in the Gryffindor common room later that evening and talk into the night.

"Whatever it is, Harry, it'll be ok," reassured Hermione.

Later that evening, the trio gathered in the common room. The fireplace danced with life, casting its orange light onto everything in the room. Falling onto the plush sofas, the trio began to chat in contentment. Ron had snagged some butterbeers from the kitchen, and Hermione had somehow acquired a lot of jelly beans. They were the good kind too, like muggles ate sometimes. For a few minutes, Harry felt comfortable and safe, nestled in between his best friends on the sofa.

"Harry, what's happened," asked Hermione.

"Where do I even begin," sighed Harry.

"It's ok, mate," said Ron.

"Well," Harry began, "you know that my life with the Durselys was not…pleasant," he began. "Things were really bad, actually. They did things to me." Harry choked on his own voice, not really wanting to share this information with anyone.

"Like what," asked Ron, "I'll kill them. You want I should kill them for you?"

"Ron," scolded Hermione, "let Harry finish." It was clear, though, that she too wanted to give the Durselys a piece of her mind. Her eyes shone with rage. Unlike Ron, she was able to infer what had happened, somehow.

"Well," Harry continued, his voice getting small, "after a while, I needed some help, to get me through things." The other two nodded. "I couldn't find any people, so I started…doing other things, using other things, if you catch my drift." There were tears in Harry's eyes, and he began to curl into a ball.

"It just got so hard," he whimpered. "I was never good enough, it was never soon enough."

"Shh, Harry, it's ok," soothed Hermione, stroking Harry's back gently.

"I don't even know how to relate to people," he said.

"How do you mean," asked Hermione cautiously.

"It's just…there are these feelings that I have. I'm not used to them," he spoke, looking up at Hermione wide-eyed.

"I knew it," she exclaimed, smiling. "There is a boy. Who is it," she asked.

Harry became quiet. He wasn't sure if he could explain these feelings that he had. Part of him wanted to return to before, where he could be content living an emotionally stunted life. He never would have known this, but prior to his time with Snape, Harry had been about as emotionally mature as an eleven year old boy. He was used to wanting a father figure, a mother. He knew that when he went to the Burrow, he would feel jealous of the Weaselys because they had a father like Arthur. During the summers, he missed Hermione because she took care of him during the year. This was more than that, though.

"It's just that there's this person," he began. Then, he stopped, and asked, "How do you know that it's a 'he'?"

"I have my ways," laughed Hermione. She and Ron smiled for Harry to continue.

"I just feel comfortable around him, safe, protected, warm, and…something else," Harry trailed off.

"Have you ever had a crush before, Harry," asked Ron.

"A what," asked a confused Harry. He knew he'd heard the word, but he hadn't the slightest idea what it meant.

"A romantic feeling for another person," responded Hermione. When Harry looked at her quizzically, she sighed. "It's when you really fancy someone, want to see them a lot, and want to be with them."

"Oh," he said, a light going on inside his head, "like you and Ron."

Hermione blushed and said, "Yes, well…sort of. What do you feel, Harry?"

"I dream about them," he began, "and my stomach feels odd too, like I've just gone on a really dramatic roller coaster. I find myself distracted in their presence."

"I think," Hermione spoke, "that you have a crush." The girl was fairly certain that she knew who the lucky male was, but she was not about to mention it.

"What do I do about it," asked Harry.

"Well, you could tell the person about it," she started. When Harry got an alarmed look on his face, she backed off. "Or you could try to figure out if they had feelings for you before you tell them how you feel."

Harry thought for a moment, remembering the chess games with Snape, and recalled what the chess pieces had said. He wondered if such an object could be trusted.

"What if," he asked, "you've heard from a source that this person shares your feelings?"

"Then I think," Hermione answered, "that you ought to tell them how you feel and get on with it." She smiled mischievously.

"Get on with what," asked Harry.

"Harry, you're hopeless, you know that, right," asked Ron.

* * *

He'd been out of sorts since the boy had moved back to Gryffindor tower. True, Harry still came to visit fairly often. At least three nights a week, the pair could be found reading aloud to each other, playing chess, and otherwise entertaining themselves. Sometimes Harry played guitar while Snape read. It wasn't the same, though. He wanted the boy to stay, wanted to go to sleep with him, and wake up next to him. Partly, though, he couldn't reconcile having feelings for a student. There wasn't a rule against teacher student relationships, per se, but the idea made Snape nervous. Finally, he became antsy enough to need to talk to someone. Knowing he'd never hear the end of it, he made his way to Dumbledore's office.

"Pop Rocks," he said. Snape was allowed passage to the headmaster's office, and was pleased to see that Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, sipping a cup of tea. Idly, Snape wondered if Dumbledore ever did anything else besides sip tea.

"Dear boy, what brings you to see this old man at such an hour," asked Dumbledore.

Taking his time, Snape sat down in a chair. He poured himself a cup of tea, which was quite out of character. Normally, Snape refused every refreshment that Dumbledore had to offer.

"I am conflicted," spoke Snape.

"What about?"

"Ethics," spoke the potions master.

"Severus, of all people, you should not worry about ethics. Your teaching methods are slightly unorthodox, but you are quite ethical," replied Dumbledore.

"It's about Harry," confessed Snape.

"Is the boy all right," questioned Dumbledore.

"Oh, he's quite all right. Never been more himself, actually," said Snape. "That's not the issue."

"And the issue is," asked Dumbledore, rising to walk about his cluttered office.

"Of a controversial nature."

"Ah, I see. I was wondering when this would happen," mused Dumbledore. "Clearly, it's occurrence now does pose some problems…"

"What are you talking about," asked a befuddled Snape.

"Well your feelings for Harry Potter, of course," replied Dumbledore, as if there could be nothing more obvious in the world. "He'll be having feelings for you too, I suspect."

"But," exclaimed Snape, "how could anyone possibly know?"

"Prophecies," spoke Dumbledore.

"Bloody prophecies."

"Indeed," agreed Dumbledore. "They're always getting in the way of what we have planned."

"What do you suggest I do," asked Snape.

"Take good care of Harry, of course."

"But the rules," contested Snape. Dumbledore held up his hand before Snape could continue to speak.

"The rules do not apply here, Severus. No wizard has ever been able to avoid a prophecy. It is simply impossible. Just as Voldemort was destined to mark Harry as his equal, you were destined to pick up the pieces of the boy who lived, put them together, and love him. There is no avoiding it," concluded Dumbledore.

"I see," muttered Snape.

"Oh, be happy about it, Severus. You will find that having companionship is far better than being introverted. Just do me one favor," asked the headmaster.

"Yes?"

"Be discrete."

* * *

Hermione slammed down a book in the library, surprised at what she'd just found. She'd been doing research for divination, her least favorite class. Her homework assignment had instructed her to look up the history of prophecies in general and to write about one prophecy that had come to fruition. She was finding this exceedingly aggravating because so few of the prophecies recorded in this book were accurate. In fact, in the entire history of prophecies, there had only been a few to be proven correct. The whole subject made Hermione angry because it was so imprecise. She knew that there were true seers in the world, but their accomplishments were overshadowed by the fakes who hogged the limelight.

Frustrated, she'd begin skimming the index. Some prophecies were so famous that they were referred to by name. Others were catalogued by the names of the individuals involved. She noticed Harry's name, which didn't surprise her at all. It had been revealed, after all, that there was a prophecy concerning him and the dark lord. This was one of the few accurate ones, actually. What surprised her was that there were two prophecies catalogued under Harry's name, not just one. Hurriedly, she turned to the indicated pages. What she found immobilized her for a moment.

"_He will be frail, in danger, and a dark man shall rescue him. The marked boy will be fearful at first, not knowing his feelings. The pair will be drawn together by magic, a bond formed. There will be no undoing it. They will rescue each other."_

Hermione stopped reading. She knew who it was. Harry didn't have a simple crush. He was feeling a strong, irresistible attraction to the dark man in the prophecy. The man was Severus Snape. Leaving the book wide-open, she ran out of the library to seek out her friends

* * *

. 

"Sometimes," he said, "I don't want to ever face them." The boy who lived was lounging in Snape's living room, looking quite relaxed.

"You shouldn't have to, Harry," replied Snape. He was relishing the boy's company.

"They expect things of me, though," retorted the boy. "I have to save the world, I have to be perfect, I have to be strong, and I'm just not."

"Harry," said Snape, moving next to the boy, "I expect nothing from you." He stroked the boy's cheek, wishing he could convey his feelings for the boy properly. He wanted Harry as he was, without any pretensions, without any requirements.

"But you aren't them." Harry's green eyes met Snape's black ones, and for a moment, there passed a strange understanding. It was as if in that instant, both individuals realized the intensity of their feelings for one another.

"Sometimes," Harry began, changing the subject, "I want things I don't understand."

"Like," asked Snape.

"I just get these feelings," the boy replied, looking nervous, scared. "It's like caring for someone, but it's really intense and I want something from them, but I don't know what it could be." He looked at Snape earnestly, hoping that the older man could explain his feelings to him.

"Some might say that those feelings are love," ventured Snape.

"What is love," asked Harry. Snape sighed, unsure where to begin. He silently cursed the muggles for raising a boy who had no concept of love.

"It's when you care for someone, when you don't care about their accomplishments, their mistakes, their faults. You want them, and you don't know why. You'd do anything to help them." He looked at the boy curiously.

"I have that," whispered Harry. He looked at Snape, eyes full of feeling and fear, and softly spoke, "I have that for you."

"And I for you," replied Snape, pulling the boy into a warm hug. The pair sat in content silence, looking at the fire and mulling things over in their head.

"What now," asked Harry.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you care for me, and I care for you, what do we do now," questioned Harry. For a boy who had seen so much pain, he had an uncanny innocence about him. An innocence, Snape knew, that made him completely ignorant of the fact that sex could be used as an expression of love.

"Some people get married, or agree to spend their lives together. Others try to spend a lot of time together, to get to know one another better. Sometimes the people involved live together," he answered.

"Like my aunt and uncle," muttered Harry.

"Well, sort of," agreed Snape. "Hopefully, our relationship will be more stable than that." Turning to Harry seriously, he continued. "There are other things, too, that people in relationships do."

"Like what?"

"Those involved might kiss," Snape said, looking at the beautiful boy beside him, "or touch each other or even have sex." It was then that Harry tensed up, became fearful, and curled up into Snape.

"Like my uncle did," whispered a tearful Harry.

"No," soothed Snape. "This is different, gentler, and involves consent. The mechanics are the same, but the mood and intent are different." He gently wiped the tears from Harry's cheek.

"Are we going to…" trailed off Harry.

"Perhaps some day, but not until you're ready," Snape reassured, kissing the boy's head.

"But you want to," inquired Harry, looking up at Snape.

"Yes, but not until you're ready."

"What if," sobbed Harry, "I'm never ready?"

"We'll deal with that," replied Snape. "It doesn't change the way I feel about you."

Silence fell over the room again, Snape relishing the boy's budding trust in him. Harry had been able to trust him enough to express his feelings, been able to trust him enough to allow Snape's hands to touch his back, his face. Snape smiled as he realized that this was the first time that he'd hugged Harry without the boy flinching instinctively. The boy was learning to trust.

* * *

Harry was struggling with his transfiguration homework, mostly because he didn't see the point in turning a paperclip into a beetle. Maybe it was the other way around. He only knew that whatever it was, it had no direct application to real life. It wasn't as if he was going to make beetles for a living. The common room was full of students doing homework, students playing. Fred and George were over in the corner, charming pencils so that they glowed.

"I can't believe that they only got three O.W.L.s each," muttered Hermione. "They're bloody brilliant." She turned her head back to Harry and his now crawling paperclip. The boy had enlisted her help, but he wasn't really listening.

"Well, I've told you before, 'Mione, they're smart," said Ron.

"Right, they just don't give a damn," she said.

"Obviously." A pencil that had grown wings suddenly flew at Hermione. When she batted it away, it blew her a raspberry before fluttering back to George. She turned her head to Harry. All week, she'd been dying to ask him about the prophecy she'd found. Harry had been spending more time out of Gryffindor tower, and Hermione suspected that he was hiding in Snape's quarters. Something about him seemed calmer as well. He didn't flinch nearly as often when he encountered loud noises or unexpected movements. Ron's jovial rough housing didn't scare him nearly as much as it used to. As weird as the idea of Harry dating Snape seemed to her, she had to admit that if that was, in fact, what was going on, it was doing Harry a load of good. He seemed more whole than he'd ever been before. She followed his green eyes, which were resting on Fred and George in amusement. She was surprised, but it looked like Harry was actually contemplating something mischievous. She watched as Harry gently picked up his insect like paper clip and charmed it so that it could fly. Then, he released it and watched as it flew about the room, startling first years and skittish girls. Finally, the paperclip landed on Fred's head, utterly confusing the twin.

"Harry," she began, "where do you go off to at night?"

Startled by the abrupt change in interaction between himself and Hermione, Harry merely looked at the girl, confused.

"Don't play dumb, either, I know you're doing something," she pried.

"It's nothing, really," he stuttered, revealing that whatever it was, it was a big deal.

"Harry, I know who it is that you fancy," she spoke, dropping the bombshell. Harry stared at her, incredulous, eyes wide like platters.

"How," he whispered, "do you know?" He suddenly became nervous and skittish.

"I found a prophecy," she replied simply, "and I'm not an idiot. When it said, 'He will be frail, in danger, and a dark man shall rescue him. The marked boy will be fearful at first, not knowing his feelings. The pair will be drawn together by magic, a bond formed. There will be no undoing it. They will rescue each other,' I figured that you were the marked boy, and it didn't take much speculation to figure out who the dark man was, given that there are only two in your life, and one of them would want to kill you." Before Harry could formulate a reply, though, she continued. "I want you to know, though, that as odd as it might seem to me, I am happy for you, and I think this is a good thing."

"Really," asked Harry, in a small voice.

"Really," she said. "He's helped you more than you know." She paused for a moment before pondering, "You two aren't, you know, shagging or anything, are you?"

"No," said an alarmed Harry.

"He'll probably want to, you know," she prodded.

"Not till I'm ready," replied Harry firmly. Hermione smiled, satisfied that she had extracted the information she'd wanted. She had been concerned that Snape might push Harry, might try to get him to engage in activities that he wasn't ready for. It seemed, though, that Snape was willing to wait, to take things at a sluggish pace. Part of the girl rejoiced, thinking that Harry might get to know true intimacy after all.

"You haven't, you know, told anyone," asked Harry.

"No," she said, planting a kiss on Harry's cheek. "That's your job." She smiled fondly at her friend, pleased to seem him so happy. He yawned tiredly, and she patted her lap, saying, "you can lie down if you want." Without answer, the boy who lived snuggled up against Hermione.

"Hey," cried Ron, "why does he get to cuddle you now?"

"Jealous," she teased.

"That's neither here nor there," said the red headed boy. "Why don't you ever let me lie down on your lap like that?"

"Because," she said, "Harry is too gay to have an impure thought for a girl pass through his head, unlike some people I know." She turned her face up to smile at Ron, who just shook his head. Ron leaned down and kissed Hermione on the lips.

"As long as he doesn't sleep with us," warned Ron, eyeing his best friend suspiciously. Ron went back to goofing off with the twins, who had moved on to trying to make pencils explode. The ceiling would soon become riddled with pieces of lead and small holes caused by projectiles getting stuck.

* * *

Snape had never been so angry in his entire life. Vengeance coursed through his veins as he thought over the events of the last few nights. Without any announcement, Harry had begun sleeping in his quarters. Being in close proximity to one another had caused the magical bond between the two wizards to grow stronger. Snape began to see what Harry saw when he remembered, feel what he felt when he dreamt. The past few nights had been full of nightmares. During the day, Harry was able to function much like everyone else. It was the nighttime that haunted him now. His sleep was disturbed by excruciatingly accurate accounts of the abuse he had endured at the hands of his former guardians. Cries for help punctuated his dreams like sinister exclamation points. Begging for mercy from someone named Vernon, Harry would remain delirious even after being shaken awake. As an incognito death eater, Snape had seen just about every atrocity known to humankind, but what those muggles had done to Harry was completely unacceptable. They had caused damage to an innocent, something that even the dark lord was wary of doing. Their actions had hurt Harry in a way that might never heal.

To add insult to injury, the boy was practically useless sexually, not that Snape expected much of him. The older man simply got frustrated. It went like this, see. The pair would be cuddled on the couch, Harry leaning into Snape. Occasionally, they would kiss. The first time Snape had kissed Harry, however, he had tensed up and panicked. Instinctively, Snape had ceased kissing the boy, not wanting to push him into something he wasn't ready for. This wasn't what tore Snape up inside, though. What really aggravated him was that Harry thought that he had no right to stop Snape's amorous advances. He swore up and down that he was ok when he was really trembling, told Snape that he could continue when the potions professor knew he couldn't. The boy thought that he had to acquiesce to every one of Snape's desires. Seeing Harry like that had driven Snape mad with rage. It infuriated him to have his lover be afraid of him, as if he too would hurt him.

He was going to kill those bloody muggles. At the very least, he was going to make their existence miserable. The way they had treated Harry was inexcusable.

That night, Snape gave Harry a dreamless sleep potion, hoping that it would allow the boy to sleep through the entire night. He lay by the boy as he drifted into a deep sleep. Once Harry's breathing became soft and regular, Severus roused himself and cast a binding charm on Harry. Dressing in his darkest robes, he quietly exited the room and walked up to the fireplace. There was no way to apparate from Hogwarts. He could, however, get to the Durselys from his fireplace. Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, he stepped into the fireplace.

"Number 4 Privet Drive," he spoke softly. Feeling the familiar tug about his stomach, he was whirled from his own quarters into the eerily familiar living room of the muggles. He could see it all as if it were yesterday. The hallway remained unchanged from when he had rescued Harry. Every bloody detail was the same. It was as if the boy hadn't ever been here. Silently, Snape stepped out of the fireplace and walked up the stairs, to where he knew the rooms would be. Turning towards the hallway at the top of the stairs, he saw immediately the doors he was looking for. He entered the master bedroom first, and watched for a moment as Harry's uncle and aunt slept peacefully. Their faces looked relaxed, and it was hard to believe that such people could be so evil. Had Severus not heard Harry's stories, seen his memories through their strengthening bond, he would not have believed these two people to be harmful. Deliberately, Snape moved to make a noise by picking up a vase and smashing it on the floor. It was time to begin.

Petunia awoke first, and screamed when she saw the large man standing in her bedroom. Vernon sat upright as if a fire cracker had gone off under his arse.

"What are you doing here," demanded the man, "you have no right to be here in my house."

"I am here," spoke Snape sinisterly, "to exact my revenge." Severely, he raised his wand and pointed it at the couple.

"What have we ever done to you," cried Petunia, shielding herself with the blankets as if they would, in fact, stave off injury.

"You have," Snape replied angrily, "irreparably damaged the one I care about most." Before the pair could reply, Snape had taken a few steps toward the bed.

"Crucio," he cried, aiming his wand straight at the couple, "you shall know his pain."

* * *

When Harry woke up the next morning, he found Severus lying in the bed beside him, just as he had been when the boy had drifted into sleep. Pleased, Harry snuggled into his arms. The boy's movement roused Snape.

"Morning, sleepyhead," the potions professor said.

"Morning," replied Harry.

"You know," said Snape, glancing at the clock, "if we get out of bed now we'll just make it to lunch in time." When the boy didn't respond and instead nuzzled his head against Snape's shoulder, Snape sighed and said, "besides, a certain boy I know has homework to do." The older man sat up and gently shook Harry into alertness. Finally, the boy relented and sat up. Shyly, the boy looked at Snape and leaned in for a kiss. It would have seemed remarkably chaste to an onlooker, but to Snape, it was wonderful because the boy had initiated it.

Harry climbed out of bed and wandered to the bathroom. Snape knew what he would do today. His day would be full of homework with friends. He could see the trio now, sitting in overstuffed chairs, arguing over their homework assignments. Later, he would come back to Snape. The boy didn't know, but Severus had invited Hermione to dinner. He knew that the boy had told her about them, and he wanted Harry to know that his friends were welcome in his quarters.

Feeling successful, the older man realized that Harry had no inkling of how he'd really spent his night. With his lover gone to do homework, he collapsed in exhaustion.

* * *

It was perfect, thought Hermione, as she looked at her best friend sitting at the table. Everything about him had improved tenfold. His eating habits were returning to normal, he didn't always flinch when startled, and his laughter had returned. She could hardly believe that Severus Snape, the snarky potions professor was responsible for this change in the boy who lived. Hermione had never realized it before, but Harry had been stuck before this year. His emotional growth had somehow been stunted, leaving him with many of the same capacities as an eleven year old boy. Of course, in retrospect, this was obviously not healthy, but she'd gotten used to it. It was refreshing to see Harry go through an emotional growth spurt.

As promised, Snape had provided an excellent dinner, much of it obviously muggle cuisine. Apparently, Severus was fascinated with America and its history. In particular, he found southern culture interesting. Appropriately, this meant that dinner had consisted of hush puppies, sweet potato pie, collard greens, and other such foods that Hermione had never seen. She couldn't say that she particularly minded the different food, though she had entered the apartment on edge, prepared to hate Snape. Instead, she'd found the older gentleman's company to be quite genial. This frustrated her. She hated to be wrong.

"Harry," spoke Snape, "perhaps you'd like to play chess with Hermione?" At this suggestion, Harry got a somewhat naughty look on his face. He replaced it quickly when he saw Hermione looking at him.

"I dunno, Sev," he began, "I was thinking it'd be nice to play some gee-tar," said Harry, in a mock southern accent. "Maybe you two could play." Snape had hardly had time to formulate an answer before Hermione had set up the chess board and was sitting in the living room, in Harry's usual spot, looking expectant. Grudgingly, he sat across from her, while Harry settled himself at his feet, holding his guitar lovingly. Soon, the boy began to play, and the three spent the night in contented companionship. Severus was surprised at how well he tolerated Hermione. He was expecting to hate her, to only tolerate her for Harry's sake. Instead, he found himself having thoughtful discussions with her concerning potion ingredients and precision in the lab. Sure, he'd had such conversations with Harry, but well…that was Harry.

Hermione climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower quietly, thoughtfully. Her first instinct was to run to Ron and tell him everything she knew. She wanted him to know how their friend had found happiness, how he acted less like a twelve year old and more like an adolescent. Harry hadn't exactly forbidden her from telling anyone, although he had initially asked for her confidence. Now, however, it seemed like he and Snape were willing to be somewhat open, albeit discrete, with their friends. Ron needed to know, she decided.

Stealthily, she crept her way up the stairs into the boy's dormitory. Since Harry had relocated to the dungeons, Ron had been in the happy situation of being without a roommate. She knew that this pleased him, as he'd never had his own room before. The walls were his to decorate. He didn't have to worry about keeping his roommates up by reading, listening to music, or talking to Hermione. She walked up to his door and knocked softly.

"Ron," she whispered, "I just had dinner with Harry and Snape." She waited for a response, hoping that Ron would still be awake. Her waiting appeared to be in vain, and she turned to leave. Just as she was about to leave, though, Ron opened the door and looked at her smugly.

"So, how'd it go," he questioned, leaning on the doorframe.

"Better than I expected."

"What did you expect Hermione," asked Ron. "Did you expect that the two of them would be at each other's throats all night?"

"Well, in a manner of speaking," she began. Ron cut her off.

"I mean, it's not like they're completely smitten with each other and shagging or anything," Ron continued. "They're just having a truce while Snape helps Harry with stuff."

"Sort of, I guess," spoke Hermione tentatively. She walked into Ron's room and flopped down on the boy's large bed. By now, the room was familiar to her. She'd spent many nights curled up by Ron, sharing thoughts and other things with him. Her mind wandered to the day that they'd told Harry about their relationship. Hermione had worried that Harry would be left out, would feel rejected. Instead, he was thrilled for them. She only hoped that Ron could do the same for Harry.

"You know Harry's gay, right Ron," blurted out Hermione.

"What," asked Ron, as he thought. "I guess I never really thought about it. I just figured he wasn't like us. I mean, I thought of him as sort of sexless…kind of like a priest." Ron looked at her curiously. "Why do you mention it?"

"Because Harry is queerer than a ."

"I guess," Ron said, thinking, "I could see that. He never did like girls in the same way. Always spent time with them, but he was, y'know, giving them fashion advice and such." The red head was obviously perplexed, and poked Hermione in the side saying, "but why does this matter? It's not like it changes anything."

Hermione took Ron's statement as permission to continue. Turning to face Ron, she asked him sincerely, "Ron, if Harry were to find someone he loved, you'd be happy for him, right?"

"Of course, "Mione, he's my best mate. I want him to be happy." If it was possible, Ron looked even more confused.

"No matter who he chose, you'd stand by him," she pressed on. She wanted to be certain before she told Ron anything. Harry couldn't take rejection right now. Snape had revealed to her just how complicated his healing process had been.

"I don't understand how this is even a question," spoke Ron, sounding irritated. "You make it sound like he's shacking up with Voldemort or Snape or something."

"If that were the case, could you handle it?"

"I guess," muttered Ron, "as long as I didn't have to like it." Hermione sighed. That was probably the best response she could hope for from Ron. Leaning back into the pillows, she pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket and began to talk.

"Well, there's this prophecy that I came across in the library, and it concerns Harry." She read the passage to Ron, who looked more confused.

"So Harry's going to fall for a guy with dark hair then," Ron conjectured. "That's good. Keeps me out of the mix," he spoke playfully.

"He's found his dark man," interjected Hermione. "It's Snape."

Ron sat bolt upright in bed, face looking like it'd been slapped. He stared at Hermione as if she'd just spoken in tongues. He waited for her to say something, say anything. He was personally hoping for a statement similar to "joke's on you," but it didn't come.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry wanted so much to express how he felt for Severus, but he didn't quite know how. He was not able to put his feelings into words well, and although the pair had kissed and slept in the same bed, the thought of doing anything more was daunting to Harry. He knew, though, that he had to, eventually. A voice in his head taunted him daily, saying that Severus would leave him if he didn't get some play soon. The voice was less in his head, though, and more coming from the mouths of his friends, who were, in all fairness, trying to be supportive. He couldn't escape their questions and suggestions for more than thirty minutes on any given day. That particular day, the three of them were wandering around Hogsmeade, peering into the windows of the shops until shooed away by the shopkeepers.

"So Harry," prodded Hermione, "has anything new come up." She looked at her friend expectantly.

"Not really," he said, doing his best to evade the question. "I mean, I guess transfiguration isn't as hard as it was."

"That's not what she meant, Harry," Ron said. "She wants to know if you and…well…you know." He still wasn't able to say that Harry and Snape were a couple. Strictly speaking, no one at Hogwarts was supposed to know, so of course everyone knew. Strangely, though, everyone managed to be pretty normal about it. Snape said that Dumbledore had drugged them all in their sleep, but Harry thought that it was just a matter of time before someone grew a pair and told the entire world.

"We're just curious, is all," continued Hermione, "and we want to help you, if we can."

"I mean, you can't really be celibate for the rest of your life," muttered Ron.

"Well, you could," corrected Hermione, "but you probably wouldn't have much of a chance at maintaining a long term relationship that way."

"It's not like it's horrible or anything," said Ron. "I mean, it's different when, y'know, both people…"

"Ron," hushed Hermione. "What he means is that the past does not necessarily dictate the future. Simply because something was one way before does not mean that it will be that way this time. I'm sure that if you just talk to him, it'll be fine."

"And there are loads of ways to relax beforehand," Ron said. "I mean, lots of times 'Mione and I have a few butterbeers before we…"

"Ron," scolded Hermione, "when will you pay attention? You know that Harry can't drink." She launched off on some tirade, but Harry wasn't listening. It seemed, actually, that he had found his answer. Perhaps Ron had a good point. If he could just relax himself a bit, the first time with Severus wouldn't be completely dreadful. Severus had kept stressing that they wouldn't consummate their relationship until he was ready, but Harry thought that perhaps he had found the thing that it would take to get him ready. Absently, he veered off to the left, heading to another part of Hogsmeade.

"I'll catch you guys later," he said, "I've got some things I need to pick up." As he wandered off, he hoped that his connection was still around town.

"Do you think he heard anything we said," pondered Hermione, as she watched her small, thin friend wander down the street.

"You know how he is, 'Mione, always with his head partially in the clouds."

It'd been a while since Harry had consumed anything remotely intoxicating, so he wasn't surprised that a little bit of smack went a long way. He felt the familiar feeling of relaxation come over him as he sat in Snape's quarters, staring into the fire. He'd taken enough to relax himself, but he was pretty sure that he would still be able to think and act like he normally did, thus arousing little or no suspicion in his partner. His purchases were safely hidden away in his trunk, and he was curled up on the couch, awaiting his lover's return. Snape arrived with no ceremony, cursing mildly under his breath. The man hung his robe in the closet and walked over to where Harry sat.

"Bloody staff meetings," he said, "it's ridiculous, the things that go on." The older man shook his head and leaned in to kiss Harry on the cheek gently. He was startled when the boy returned the kiss, focusing on his lips. Severus was taken aback at Harry's sudden bravery, and then forgot about it completely as his lips were enveloped in a deep, sensuous kiss. Without thinking, he pulled the boy onto his lap and began tracing the length of his body with his hands. Harry squirmed in his lap, gasping as he was touched in new ways by his lover. Severus gasped as the boy latched onto his neck and began to suck gently, teasing him with his tongue. The boy made his way up to Snape's ear, nibbling on the earlobe gently. It was then that he whispered the words that Snape had been waiting to hear.

"I'm ready Sev," the boy moaned. He moved to kiss Severus deeply, as sensuously as he knew how. Immediately, Severus reacted, allowing hands free reign over the boy's body. Harry had spoken. He would get what he wanted. Gently, Severus lifted the boy and carried him to their bedroom, kissing him all the while. It seemed like an eternity before the pair made it to the bed, as if there was no possible way to wait.

Severus laid Harry down on the bed and disrobed him with a flick of his wand. Soon, his larger body joined Harry's thinner, smaller one on the bed. He grinned as he saw, for the first time, Harry's cock, jutting up, begging for attention. Instead, he stroked the boy's chest, gently working his way down to his hips. His fingers moved along Harry's legs, between Harry's legs, eliciting whimpers and groans from the boy. He knew that this needed to be good for the boy. It was important that Harry learn that sex could be fun, pleasurable. He felt Harry's head nuzzled against his shoulders, and he smiled. Despite all of his experiences, Harry was, essentially, an innocent. He kissed Harry deeply before moving down and taking the excited cock into his mouth. Snape had to keep his lips from turning up into a smile when he heard Harry's gasp. He continued to lick gently, at the same time reaching into a drawer to withdraw a small jar of lubricant. He dipped a finger into the jar, and then moved the finger to the boy's entrance. Gently, he began to massage, stretching Harry out. At first, Harry tensed up when the finger entered him, but gradually, he began to relax. Once Harry grew accustomed to one finger, Snape inserted two, careful to hit what he recognized to be Harry's sweet spot. Soon, the boy was writhing underneath him, and Snape could tell that he was close to coming.

Abruptly, Snape withdrew his fingers and ceased his ministrations about Harry's cock. He smiled as the boy looked up at him, clearly confused. Grinning, Snape lifted Harry's bottom up and placed it on a pillow.

Harry knew what was coming when Snape reached for the pillow. The inevitable was coming; he only hoped that he would remain relaxed. He could still feel the affects of his drugs coursing through him, but fear joined the intoxicants in stimulating his psyche. The feeling grew when he could feel something that was definitely not a finger perched at his entrance. He felt Severus' hand come down and caress his cheek. Gradually, Harry felt an increase in pressure. He could feel Severus as he slowly entered him, sheathing his cock inside. Harry closed his eyes, hoping to banish the thoughts of his past from his head. After a moment, he felt Severus begin to move. The older man's lips met his in a fiery kiss, and at that moment, Snape increased his tempo. Harry wrapped his arms around his lover, feeling very confused by the entire experience. Everything felt different that he had expected it to. He had expected Severus to treat sex like his uncle had. This was different, though, just as the man had promised. Before Harry's thoughts could continue, he felt a gentle hand reach down to pump his cock. He gasped, as the sensation of being filled and fondled overtook him. Like fireworks, it coursed through him, causing his muscles to tense, causing him to moan audibly. Soon after, Severus followed him into oblivion.

Harry awoke with a screaming headache and the feeling that someone was about to get very angry at him. Instinctively, he curled up into a tight ball, preparing himself for the onslaught. After a moment, he realized that something was awry, and he poked his head out from under the covers. He saw Severus laying beside him, sleeping contentedly. Visible also was his trunk, carefully locked, just as he had left it last night. A million thoughts ran through his head as he tried to figure out what, exactly, he had done. When he moved his lower half, a familiar soreness reminded him of exactly what had transpired.

God, he needed a hit. Without thinking, he quietly got out of bed and walked over to his trunk. Quickly, he looked over to make sure that the older man was asleep. When he confirmed that Severus was, indeed, still in the land of the dreaming, he opened the trunk and reached for a small bundle at the bottom. Hurriedly, he walked to the bathroom.

Within minutes, Harry was floating, all anxiousness leaving him. He had the presence of mind to walk back into the bedroom and hide his bundle safely in his trunk before climbing back into bed. Nestled against the man he loved, he fell into a warm sleep.

He wasn't sure, exactly, what was going on with Harry. The only thing he truly knew was that something was undeniably different about the boy. It felt like there were secrets again, like there was something going on behind those green eyes. Snape wanted to get to the bottom of it. He was sick of this new Harry. Sure, now he could fuck Harry's brains out, but it seemed that the boy he loved was gone. After all, what good is sex if it distorts a beautiful relationship?

Severus had been observing Harry carefully for two weeks now. Unbeknownst to the boy, he'd also recruited Ron and Hermione to keep an eye on him. Whatever it was that was going on in Harry's life was remaining well hidden. Snape had to hand it to the boy; he was a splendid actor. He could lure you into a false sense of security with a smile, make you forget your concerns with a kiss, and utterly take away your thoughts with anything else. He only hoped that Ron would find out what was going on with Harry. The boys were having a sort of party in the dorms tonight. Since the end of 5th year, the boys in Harry and Ron's class had become friendlier towards each other. The group, which included Draco, Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Jordan, had taken to having Friday night get togethers, where they would play cards, drink, and talk. Severus assumed, of course, that Harry didn't drink. He knew that the boy smoked cigarettes, a habit he tried to discourage. He hated that the boy smoked, but he wasn't about to take that away from him, yet.

Later that evening, in Gryffindor Tower, the boys were getting feisty. Ron had smuggled bottles of Firewhiskey and butterbeer from the kitchen, and Draco had somehow acquired muggle liquor. Much to the pleasure of the drinking boys, Draco rather enjoyed playing bartender, and he often spent the evening mixing drinks for everyone else. Generally, the parties stayed calm. That night would be somewhat different, though.

The first difference occurred when Ron saw Harry snag a drink from Draco. He watched, somewhat horrified, as the boy poured the drink straight down his throat. When Harry reached for another drink, though, Ron reacted.

"Mate," he said, grabbing the drink from Harry, "I thought you'd given this stuff up." He looked at Harry, somewhat concerned.

"Aw, Ron," replied Harry, jovially, "a drink or two won't hurt, really. It's not like I'm going to get smashed." He took the drink from Ron and moved to sit on the floor, where a game of gin rummy was taking place.

"Ok, Harry," Ron spoke cautiously, "if you're sure."

"Course I'm sure, I've done all this before." Ron nodded in agreement. If any of the boys here knew their limit, it would have to be Harry. With that, the night rolled on for quite a while, with nothing out of the ordinary occurring. Once everyone had a few drinks in them, though, things started to get weird again. It was then that Harry brought out his bundle. Curiously, the boys watched as Harry began to shoot up, right in front of everyone. The boys were shocked but were too drunk to do anything.

"Hey, Harry," asked Seamus, "I thought you'd given up that noise."

"Well, I tried, but it's quite helpful when you've got some things to cope with," replied a relaxed Harry. "Y'all want any," he asked, "I've got extra supplies."

Ron watched nervously as the other boys contemplated Harry's offer. None of them looked particularly keen on the idea of injecting something into their veins. Instead, they bummed a cigarette off of Harry and called it good.

"So Draco," spoke Harry, "how are things between you and Blaise?"

"Decent, I guess," he said.

"Only decent," asked Seamus. "He's so cute."

"Yeah, well, he's a little nervous about…erm…sexual things," spoke Draco.

"That's what this stuff is for," erupted an inebriated Harry, holding up a drink in one hand and waving a fag in the other. "It's good for all that ails you, my friend."

"What are you sayin', mate," asked Draco warily, "are you sayin' that I should try to get Blaise drunk or something?"

"Drunk, high, whatever it takes to relax him," said Harry. "It'll sure make things easier." He took a long drag off of his cigarette and laid his cards on the ground and said, "I've got a full house."

The rest of the night passed slowly for Ron. Part of him was concerned for his friend's well being, but the other half of him was simply too far gone to care. He hadn't meant to drink so much, but judging from Harry's behavior, the golden boy had fully intended upon getting royally soused. One by one, the boys drifted off into sleep as they lay on the floor.

"He's just been acting so weirdly lately,' muttered Ron. He was doing the one thing he'd never in a million years have imagined doing. He was talking to Snape. "He's not himself."

"Well there's a point we can both agree upon," remarked Snape wryly. "He hasn't been the same for a while."

"But you see," began Ron, "I think I know what's up with him."

"Do you," asked Snape curiously. "Well you simply must share this with me." Obviously, it wasn't in Snape's nature to have a discussion with Ron either.

"The other night, we were all hanging out, playing cards, like we always do." Snape nodded. He knew of the get togethers in the dorms, and generally, he thought they were a fine way for the boys to spend an evening. "Everything was quite normal," Ron continued, "until Draco began mixing drinks, like he always does."

"Contraband alcohol, is this what you're here to tell me about," sneered Snape, "because if it is, you'll find that I have very little interest in that."

"Except that Harry was drinking too," spat out Ron. Immediately, he clasped his hand over his mouth, as if he had said something completely without thinking. It was too late, though. Snape was furious.

"He was what," yelled Snape.

"He was…drinking and," stuttered Ron, his fear of Snape fast returning from its brief hiatus.

"And what," roared Snape, "we haven't time for your incoherent mumbling."

"And he had cigarettes."

"He's allowed cigarettes, although it's a filthy habit and he'll soon have to quit that as well," retorted Snape.

"And drugs," whispered Ron. The words seemed to hang in the air, as if they would never go away.

"I thought he'd quit," said an astounded Snape.

"Well, he had quit, I think," said Ron, "and he was doing well too." Severus didn't hear the last part, though. He had already hurried to the door, heading to his quarters. No doubt he was going to wait for Harry.

"Sure wouldn't want to be Harry about now," muttered Ron, knowing that his friend was in a world of trouble.

Harry was sitting in the living room when Severus stormed in. The boy had been doing his homework in peace, all the while sipping on a cup of tea. Suddenly, he felt a pair of hands grab his collar, and before he knew it, he was slammed into a wall and held there.

"What," hissed Snape, "did you think you were doing at that party last night?" When the boy didn't answer, the potions master shook him. "Who put the idiotic idea into your head that using any of those things was ok?"

"I…I…it just happened," spoke Harry, hesitating.

"It didn't just happen," roared Snape, "I destroyed all of your junk so that this wouldn't happen again. You had to deliberately acquire it, after all that we've been through."

"I needed it, though, I was scared," said Harry defensively. He wriggled in Snape's grasp, hoping to escape. Never before had the potions master restrained him against his will.

"So scared that you couldn't even talk to me? What could possibly be that scary at this point?" Before Harry could speak, though, Snape dragged him to the door and threw him out, glaring at the boy.

"Come back when you're ready to be sober," Severus said sinisterly, slamming the door in Harry's face. He didn't want to see Harry's face as he fell to the ground, didn't want the boy to see him as he flew about the house in a rage, attempting to destroy every last bit of Harry's illicit goods.

It was late at night when Hermione found Harry curled into a ball in the hallway. Confused, she approached the boy. Usually, he spent the nights in Snape's quarters, so it was highly unusual to see him in the hallway leading to Gryffindor Tower. Of course he still had a bed in the tower, but Ron used it to store his laundry on. She touched Harry's shoulder, only to have him look up at her with tear filled eyes. She knew, then, without asking, that Snape had thrown him out. An instant later, she realized that it was because Harry was undoubtedly high as a kite.

"Oh Harry," she cooed softly, pulling the boy to his feet. Gently, she led him to the Gryffindor common room. "Sit on the couch, Harry, I'm going to get you cleaned up." She hurried upstairs to get a wash cloth for Harry's face, and a first aid kit, just in case he had tried to hurt himself. You never knew with Harry. When she returned, Harry had curled into a ball on the sofa and was staring into the fire as if it held some answer for him. She lifted his head and placed it on her lab as she sat, wiping his face with a cool cloth.

"Harry, dear, we need to talk about what's troubling you," she said.

"He found out," he cried softly, "he found out and he was never supposed to find out and he knows now."

"What did he find out, Harry?" When Harry didn't answer and instead began sobbing again, she simply began stroking his hair and back.

"Why did you start using again, Harry?"

"It was easier this way," said Harry. "I wasn't scared anymore. It doesn't matter now, though. He threw me out, I'll never be able to go back."

"What was easier," she asked.

"Sex," muttered Harry so softly that Hermione almost didn't catch it. She had to restrain a gasp, though. Suddenly, it all became clear. She and Ron had mentioned that sometimes they drank before intimacy.

"Oh Harry, don't you know that Severus would have waited as long as you needed," whispered Hermione.

"Didn't seem like it, from what Ron would say."

"How long," asked Hermione tentatively.

"Few weeks," said Harry. Hermione sighed, knowing that in Harry's case, that was probably enough to undo all of the work he'd put into quitting over the Christmas holiday. Suddenly, Harry looked up at Hermione, wild eyed and crazy. "I need it, Hermione, I have to go get it."

"You'll do no such thing," scolded Hermione, "we're going to figure this all and fix things between you and Severus." Before she could stop him, though, Harry bolted from the couch and out of the common room. She started to follow him, but realized that there was no way that she could keep up. Instead, she watched as Harry disappeared from her sight.


	3. Chapter 3

He'd lost track of time; no longer was he able to count the days since he'd run away. Instead, he lived life minute by minute. His goals were no longer related to schoolwork, but to securing drugs for himself. He'd branched out, too. No longer did he restrict himself to just heroin. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Harry was now well versed in the use of crystal meth, cocaine, and a number of wizard drugs as well. Here, it didn't matter if he was poor. He only needed to perform certain acts to secure his fix. In fact, Harry's emaciated form, green eyes, and unruly hair were something of a legend around the neighborhood. As far as looks went, he was by far the least damaged. Compared to the other boys, he was an Adonis.

Currently, the boy who lived was sitting on a dingy blanket on a street corner. He had intended to do some busking, hoping that his musical skills would earn him some cash. Exhaustion had changed this, though, and instead he was staring off into space, not really noticing the rain that was hitting him, soaking him to the bone. Soon someone would come and find him, use him for something. He didn't care much what they did to him, so long as they did it somewhere warm. The only thing that had ever mattered in his life was gone, had thrown him out like a useless piece of garbage.

He looked up and saw his dealer. Harry had no money, and he knew what he'd have to do to get anything. Nothing bothered him anymore. That's what the drugs were for. If someone wanted it a little rough, then so be it. He could take it, and then he would dull the pain with opiates. The older man motioned for Harry to follow, and obediently, he did. He didn't see the stunned look on the dark haired man standing a few feet away.

Severus wanted to cry. His impatience had caused him to throw the boy out, when love would have sufficed. "We could have worked our way through it," he thought blithely. It had taken him weeks to track down the boy, mostly because everyone kept expecting Harry to just show up and apologize. When that didn't happen, Snape had begun searching the area, beginning with the Forbidden Forest and somehow winding up in Hogsmeade. He was just about to give up and go back to Hogwarts when he saw a scrawny urchin sitting on the sidewalk. There was something eerily familiar about the kid. Curious, Severus had watched him for a few minutes, taking in the sadness that emanated from him. It was as if the kid was sitting there, biding his time until it was time to die. Only when another man approached the boy did Severus recognize the teen as his Harry. For a moment, he was paralyzed as he watched the boy follow the man listlessly. Like a robot, he seemed program to carry out basic functions necessary to survival and nothing more. Suddenly, though, Snape broke into a run, so he could catch Harry before he disappeared again. Surprising both Harry and his dealer, Snape grabbed the boy and then began running to Hogwarts. Harry's dealer figured that the older man was just a pimp, angry that his property had escaped. Harry, in his drug induced stupor, thought that he was still with his dealer.

Snape hurried to his quarters, carrying Harry as if he were a small child who could be broken at any time. Once the pair were safe within his quarters, he eyed the boy carefully. He was obviously disoriented, thin as a rail, and badly beaten up. His clothes were filthy and soaked through, his arms covered in track marks. Snape was hardly put off. Instead, he flicked his wand to clean Harry's clothes and then sat down next to the boy. Gently, he wrapped his arms around Harry and watched as the boy drifted off to sleep.

When Harry woke up, he was struck by the sensation of being warm. There was no noise erupting from the street, no rain falling upon his head, no puddle under his head. He felt soft blankets covering him, cushions underneath his body, and someone warm behind him. Groggily, he opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. He sat up with a start when he recognized Snape's apartment. He felt the arms around him tighten and turned his head to see Severus looking at him.

"You're not going to get away this time, Harry," he spoke softly. "I won't let you leave." When the boy continued struggling to get away, Snape used one of his hands to stroke the boy's hair, all the while maintaining his grip around Harry's waist. Instead of calming the boy, as Snape had hoped, Harry instead began to squirm more frantically. "Shh, Harry," it's ok," soothed Snape, "I'm here to help you. We're going to put you back together again. Don't you want to be whole again, to attend school again?" Something Snape said must have struck home with Harry because the boy suddenly stopped trying to escape. He either decided that resistance was futile or that he did want something else in life. Snape hoped it was the latter.

Once Harry had ceased moving, Snape stood up, still holding the boy in his arms. He had decided that it was time for the boy who lived to have a bath. Quickly, he removed Harry's clothes, carried him to the bathroom, and placed him in the tub. Automatically, the basin began to fill with water. He was shocked to see how thin Harry had grown in just a few weeks. As the water rose to cover Harry's body, the boy began to relax slightly. Snape gently washed his body, careful not to disturb any wounds. Severus knew that he should be shocked by how battered Harry was, but he wasn't. Harry would have been low on the proverbial food chain out on the streets. He would have had to put up with all sorts of treatment.

Once he was satisfied that Harry was clean, he lifted the boy out of the tub and dried him off. He felt Harry lean into the touch, obviously enjoying feeling cared for. Soon, Harry was dressed in clean clothes, and if it hadn't been for the fact that he'd lost about twenty pounds, no one would've guessed that he'd disappeared.

Gently, Severus took Harry's head into his hands and looked into the scared green eyes. "We're going to work through this, Harry," he said, "just like we did the last time. It's going to be ok, but you're going to have to trust me. You're going to have to believe that I won't leave you because you aren't comfortable with something, because you aren't ready for something." He paused, seeing that Harry was now crying, but trying not to show it. He was still on something, Severus knew, and he was disoriented. "There will be differences, though," he continued. "First off, if you aren't ready to give up something, you must tell me. I'm assuming that you've picked up a few more nasty habits this time around, and it won't do at all to have you quit them all at once." He watched the boy, looking for any reaction.

"If…if I can have cigarettes," he muttered, "and maybe the coke…at least for a while." Harry looked at Snape hopefully. He desperately wanted to please him, and couldn't bear to be thrown out again.

"Cigarettes I think we can do, and cocaine maybe," replied Snape. "We'll see. What else are you currently taking?"

"What am I not taking," asked a sullen Harry.

"Heroin, meth, skillith," asked Snape, rattling off a few intoxicants he knew of. When Harry didn't respond, however, he knew that the boy was a bit worse off than he'd initially thought. He wasn't sure how to deal with someone using meth.

"Do you have any of it with you," asked Snape. Harry shook his head in a negative response, and the potions master's face took on a look of relief.

Contrary to his initial beliefs, Snape found that it was nearly impossible to ease Harry off of meth without the use of another drug. The problem was, though, that getting him off meth resulted in increased use of heroin. Meanwhile, the battered boy was still expected to attend classes. Luckily, prior to his relapse, Harry's grades had been exemplary, so he could afford to be somewhat preoccupied. This was good, because Harry spent a good deal of his time curled up in a ball on the living room rug. He hadn't tried to beg Snape for anything; he knew it wouldn't work. Indeed, it seemed like his spirit was broken for some reason. Snape almost wanted him to do something, just to see some emotion in him.

"I was thinking," began Snape, "that tomorrow we'd begin weaning you off of the rest of the drugs." He looked at Harry, hoping for some response. Not surprisingly, Harry seemed to find the ceiling quite interesting. "You can, of course, continue to smoke cigarettes if you feel the need," continued Snape, "although eventually that too will have to end." Still no response from the boy. Sighing, he moved to the floor and scooped the boy into his arms.

"Why do you shut yourself away from me, Harry," he asked, stroking the boy's back. "Why are you silent all of a sudden?"

If Snape could read Harry's thoughts, he might have figured out why. Harry was afraid, afraid of being thrown out again, afraid to be vulnerable, afraid to feel. He found it was easier to retreat into himself, and just allow his body to exist. Sure, the rest of the world saw him as a shell of his former self, but he was protected. If he didn't do anything, then no one could say that he'd done something wrong. Still, he wanted to respond to Severus, wanted to trust him again. He wanted to feel worthy, but it seemed so impossible.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Severus separated himself from Harry and went to answer it. Before he could properly react, Ron and Hermione burst into the room and made a beeline for Harry. Within seconds, Hermione had wrapped her arms around Harry.

"We've missed you, Harry," she said softly. "When will you come back to us?" When forlorn green eyes looked up to her, Severus felt a pang of jealousy. He brushed it away, telling himself that it didn't matter who got Harry to snap out of it, so long as someone broke through his barrier. "I know it's hard," she continued, "but you can trust us. We love you, and nothing has been the same since you ran off."

"What if it's wrong," asked Harry suddenly. "What if everything I do is wrong?"

"Then we'll work through it," she said. "Harry, what you are doing isn't right. Hiding away from people isn't healthy, and your friends miss you. I know," she added, smoothing his hair out of his face, "that Severus misses you. He doesn't care about your mistakes, he just wants his Harry back."

"But what if," he started, only to be cut off by Hermione.

"No what ifs, Harry. We're your friends. There's nothing you could do to drive us away," she said.

"We know," interjected Ron, "you've tried."

"Hush, Ron," chided Hermione. "Harry, we love you as you are, flaws and all. Please come back to us. Let Severus help you." When Harry nodded slowly, Severus sighed in relief. Somehow, Hermione had fixed him. "Well, not fixed him," he reminded himself, "the boy is still addicted to cocaine and probably heroin, but maybe he'll be receptive to help now."

"We're going to go do homework now, Harry," said Hermione softly. "Come join us when you're ready to." She kissed his head and rose to her feet. She nodded at Severus and then she and Ron exited the room. It was then that it happened.

Severus had just closed the door when he felt arms wrapped around him. He turned around to see Harry frantically trying to bury himself in his arms and chest. Snape could hardly contain his joy at this. It had been quite a while since Harry had hugged him. He stroked the boy's hair and back and felt the boy's body begin to shake, as for the first time, Harry allowed himself to cry.

"I want to be better," he whimpered. "I want to be with my friends, want to be with you, I just…" he trailed off as his voice cracked.

"I know Harry, I know," whispered Severus, "and we're going to get you better."

"It's so fucking hard," yelled the boy who lived, in a rare display of temper. "For the love of god, why can't I just use what I want to use when I want to use it?" He glared at his mate, daring him to say anything, knowing that Severus would fight fire with fire. Angrily, he began to pace back and forth.

"You know, if you don't stop pacing, I'm going to have to replace the bloody carpet," quipped Snape.

"Fuck you, and fuck your carpet," hollered Harry.

"So eloquent today," muttered Snape.

"I could just leave, you know," threatened Harry. "I could just up and disappear, and you'd never find me, and I could do all the things I wanted to."

"Yes, I suppose you could," replied Snape calmly. "But obviously, you aren't going anywhere."

"Then make it fucking go away," howled the boy. "I just can't do it without it."

"You're starting to sound like Lupin, with all the howling. I may have to brew you up some wolfsbane potion, just to be safe." Snape continued to sit on the sofa, sipping his tea. He knew that eventually, Harry would stop ranting and would instead curl up beside him and whimper until the worst of this particular craving past. Until then, though, he had to put up with Harry's mood swings and rants. Poppy was thinking about acquiring some muggle medicines to help him through this time. She said that his mood swings were dangerous, and what's more, he was probably suffering from some sort of chemical imbalance. Snape didn't doubt it. Harry cycled rapidly from elatedly happy to dangerously morose and apathetic.

"I don't see why I need to quit anyway," he continued. "It's not like it's the worst thing in the world. I mean, if I can find happiness through something, then how can it be so bad? You don't see Ron and Hermione trying to take you away from me, do you?" His green eyes bored holes in Snape's skull, daring the man to answer.

"Well, if you'd consider for a moment, the difference between ingesting poison on a regular basis and a consensual, loving relationship, you might gain some insight," commented Snape wryly. He looked at the carpet, noticing that Harry really was wearing a hole in it from his regular pacing. The boy never slept anymore; he couldn't. He hadn't learned how to cope with the thoughts on his own, and Snape had learned the hard way that the boy would become addicted to any sleep aid currently available in the world. As such, Harry hadn't slept in about two weeks. Remarkably, the boy still maintained his high grades. Snape knew it was because he spent all night studying to keep his mind off things.

"You don't even let me smoke inside. How on earth is that supposed to be supportive," muttered Harry.

"Well forgive me if I don't want my quarters to smell of cigarette smoke for the rest of my tenure here." He could see that Harry's patience was wearing thin, and he knew that soon the boy would collapse on the sofa.

"It's just so hard to remember," he said sadly. It hurt Snape, to hear how haunted Harry was. "I just want to forget sometimes." With that, he flopped down on the sofa and leaned into Snape.

"What you need, Harry, is a hobby. Whatever happened to that blasted guitar you used to play," asked Severus.

"Pawned it," said the boy softly.

"Well that was stupid of you," replied Snape. Mentally, he made a note to track down a guitar for Harry.

"Right, insult my intelligence why don't you," snapped Harry.

"I find that leaving that to your professors is insult enough," said Snape in a barely audible voice.

"What'd you say," asked Harry defensively.

"Nothing, why don't we play chess or something?" With that, the pair began to play, Harry scowling at the pieces when they tried to engage him in conversation.


	4. Chapter 4

On many nights, it occurred to Snape that Harry might never fully recover. He might always go through periods of intense drug use, might always have mood swings, might always smoke like a chimney. Truth be told, Snape sort of liked the scent of cigarette smoke on Harry's breath, but he wasn't about to tell anyone that.

The boy was doing better lately. Poppy had acquired some muggle medicines for him to try. Snape had, of course, rolled his eyes and stated that some of the side effects were just as bad as what the medicine was supposed to cure. Nevertheless, Harry's mood swings were less frequent. He hated being wrong. Looking up from his reading, he realized that Harry wasn't in the room, and hadn't been for a while. Sighing, he got up and walked to the little porch, where he knew Harry would be. Harry was huddled in a blanket, shivering and smoking.

"How long have you been out here," asked Snape. When he got no response, he picked up the empty pack of cigarettes and said, "You really shouldn't smoke a pack this quickly."

"I just had to think," spoke Harry, calmly.

"About?"

"What I'm supposed to do with myself," he sighed. Snape moved closer to the boy and wrapped his arm around him.

"What do you think you're supposed to do with yourself," he asked.

"I don't know, everyone expects me to do amazing things, but what if I just want to play the role of housewife? What if I just want to do something menial, like work in a store, or cook? What if I want to have nothing to do with magic?"

"You surely don't want to give up magic," asked a slightly alarmed Snape.

"No, but that's not the point. The point is that it's never been about what I wanted. It's always what everyone else wanted. What Dumbledore thought was right, what my uncle told me to do." Harry nuzzled his head into Severus' shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being held.

"What if I told you that it doesn't matter what you want to do, so long as you're happy," asked Snape. "Then what?"

"I think then I'd be really confused, because the only thing that really makes me happy is, well, you."

"You'll find something aside from me," said Snape as he kissed Harry's head. "You're only 16, after all. I'm here as a support and nothing else. Now what we really need to talk about," continued Snape, changing the tone, "is this bloody mess you're making with all of these cigarette butts. It looks like you're trying to make some kind of sculpture, but really, I think you're just too lazy to pick them up."

"No one understands my art," said Harry cheekily.

"If it looked like something other than wet cigarette butts, maybe someone would understand it," said Snape.

"What if it's a statement about how the establishment is attempting to take over and thus hindering the creativity of the common masses to nothing more than a pile of wet garbage," asked Harry.

"Then I'd say that there's one wizard I know who has some homework he needs to do," responded Snape, shooing Harry inside.

That night, Harry slept, curled in Severus' arms. He hadn't slept in two weeks.  
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More and more, Harry was thinking that he'd like nothing more than to meander through life, doing odd jobs, knowing unusual but useless things, and playing music. Snape was trying to convince him that he ought to lend his hand to something a little more substantial than that, if for nothing other than financial reasons. Harry wanted none of it. He continued to study hard in his classes, but ceased searching for a viable career option, much to Snape's chagrin. Severus had decided to take this up with Hermione.

"Why do you think I can get him to do anything," asked Hermione.

"You seem to have a way with dumb animals," quipped Snape.

"Harry isn't dumb," said Hermione defensively.

"No, but he's acting like a real dunderhead right now. He's all but given up on finding a career, or even a job for that matter," explained Snape. "He has good days, of course, days where he his capable of accomplishing a great deal, but then there are days where he is little more than a bump on a log."

"Maybe it's a phase," suggested Hermione.

"I've seen bumps with more personality," replied Snape.

"Could it be," said Hermione thoughtfully, "that he's bipolar?" When Severus looked at her with a confused look on his face, she spoke again. "Don't tell me you've never studied any muggle illnesses, Severus. They're really quite interesting and, contrary to popular opinion, wizards can get them."

"I know what bipolar disorder is, Miss Granger," said Snape, somewhat offended. "I merely believed that Harry's irregular moods were due to his adjustment to life without drugs."

"Well, that's probably partially correct," said Hermione. "But how long did Harry use drugs? Do we even know?" When Snape shook his head, the girl added, "The longer a person uses a drug, the more changes it can cause in their body. In Harry's case, he was taking strong opiates, which could have caused his body to stop making them of its own accord."

"What are you saying," asked Snape.

"Harry can't make his own happy drugs in his head," said Hermione.

"There's no need to talk down to me as if I'm a child, Miss Granger. Now how would one figure out whether or not Harry was bipolar?"

"I would ask Poppy," said Hermione.

Getting Harry to see Poppy was an entirely different matter all together, as Snape soon found out. The boy might look fragile and weak, but Snape suspected that was an image he liked to cultivate as a defense mechanism. It took the potions master a full hour to corner the boy at all, and another ten minutes get him to calm down enough to keep him in one place.

"I'm not going to the hospital wing," hollered Harry. "I already know what's wrong with me, you already know what's wrong with me. There's nothing left to be discussed."

"We can't be sure of that, now can we, Harry," asked Snape, trying to wrestle the boy into a stable position. Finally, he pinned him on the sofa, and held him in place.

"You have obviously proven yourself stronger than a skinny addict kid," retorted Harry. "Are you proud of yourself?"

"Maybe you should ask yourself that question," hissed Snape. "You're going to see Poppy, and she's going to figure out what's going on with you." He pulled the boy up to his feet and began leading him out into the hallway.

"Well, you can make me go, but you can't make me talk to her," glowered Harry.

"Oh, we'll see about that," said Snape. "If you make it difficult for her, she'll just make it more unpleasant for you."

Snape knew that Harry hated the hospital wing, and he couldn't really blame him. Although Poppy tried to make it as pleasant as possible a place to be, it was still sterile and uninviting, especially compared to the rest of the castle. Severus remembered hating the hospital wing when he was a child. His train of thought was interrupted by Poppy entering the room and approaching them in a business like manner.

"What can I do for you two today," she asked.

"Well, I'd like to have you run a battery of tests on Harry," said Snape. The boy glared at him.

"What sort of tests?"

"I think he needs a mental health assessment," mentioned Snape. He ignored the dark look he was getting from Harry, ignored the fact that the boy was fuming and would probably not speak to him for a day or two.

"Well, I certainly think we could do that," responded Poppy. "There's really only one problem."

"And that is," asked Snape icily.

"He needs to consent to the tests, or have a guardian sign a release form." Snape's heart sank. Harry would never consent. If the boy had had his way, he'd have stayed in Snape's quarters, staring at the carpet in a lazy, depressed stupor.

"Is there any way around that," asked Snape.

"Well, if we knew that he was a danger to himself," began Poppy.

"What if he's been a real arse to live with," interrupted Snape. He'd like to get around mentioning Harry's addictions to Poppy if he could. It was rough enough for the boy that his close friends, Dumbledore and McGonagall knew.

"I have no right to run the tests against his will if he's simply being annoying," said Poppy, obviously trying to hold back laughter.

"Fine," sighed Snape. "I didn't want it to come to this but Harry's been using drugs for quite a while." He felt the boy struggle in his grasp, wanting to get away from his treacherous lover. Snape simply strengthened his hold on the boy. "Recently, he's began to give them up for obvious reasons, and this is affecting his mental stability and health. Without proper treatment, he might begin to use again." Snape knew that now Harry wouldn't speak to him for a week.

"Well, as that's the case," said Poppy, whose demeanor had changed considerably, "then we can certainly run the tests."


End file.
